


I Am The Weapon

by jendavis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-07
Updated: 2010-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 85,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't always get along...  Starting with "Runner" and going through the end, a collection of episode tags that show how they figured it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter corresponds with one season of SGA, starting with Runner, so Chapter 1 covers season 2 and so on...

**1\. Runner**

 _These people are fools, easily caught, easily disarmed, and eager to trust. Are you sure you want their doctor digging into your back? They've been overlong in the sun, though maybe the same could be said for you. You don't have time for these people, regardless of their promise. And they will probably die as a result._

He was aware that Sheppard was aiming at him from atop the rocks; the man either wanted to be seen, or was completely incompetent. The outcrop up to Ronon's right would have afforded Sheppard a better view of the doctor's hands, Teyla's face, and Ronon's gun. If Sheppard wanted to see his face, it brought him no advantage. He could easily shoot Teyla before his eyes belied his intention.

He wondered what would happen if he did put the gun down. He would have liked to. It was hard to keep Teyla in his sights while the doctor was operating, but the gun remained trained until the world went gray.

The night air was cool when Ronon awoke, but it was more unnerving than pleasant. He didn't know how long he'd been out- hadn't yet learned the stars of this world, but he knew he'd been still too long.

He knew he couldn't afford hopes of that nature. He had woken alone, and his gun was missing. If they'd betrayed him, he needed to regain any lead that he could.

He stood up, rolling his shoulders experimentally as he scanned the perimeter. The tight pull of the bandage bracketed a painful twinge that he didn't test. Neither meant anything. Neither did the bloody device sitting in the tray. They could be trying to trick him.

His shirt was sitting next to the tray, which wasn't surprising. That his gun was wrapped inside it, however, was. It hadn't been tampered with, that he could see, but maybe they'd found a new way to rig it.

He set it to kill, and back to stun again. It sounded right, but he didn't yet trust it. A whole lot, actually was riding on the answer to two questions: _Is this real_ , and _can I trust them?_

He ducked back into the cave, finding his cache by memory and feeling through the pack.

He'd taken the map off a dead wraith years ago, hoping that as it showed them his position, it would show him theirs. It didn't. He'd almost thrown it away, but pocketed it instead. It was only a small confirmation of his own existence, but it was the only proof of life he had most days. Once he died, the tracking device would have no power source, and its signal would die with him.

So when the device showed him as dead, it took him a moment to feel the first waves of freedom washing over him.

He set off towards the gate, to dial home for the first time in seven years.

And if he happened upon Sheppard's people, he could afford to help them out. As for their missing friend, well, he could happily stun the hell out of that wraitheyed freak. It wouldn't take long. Though Sheppard's company probably had it under control anyhow.

 _Then again,_ he allowed, coming into another clearing, _maybe they need all the help they can get._

"Hi! Doctor Rodney McKay. Could you, um, get me down, please?"

  
 **2\. Duet**

It was too quiet. This was the first thing he noticed when he woke- that there was no wind. He was inside.

He let his hand slide from underneath the pillow, but left the gun where it lay.

He was safe here. He posed no threat to them.

He knew what he would find on the other side of the door- the guards again. Just until people got used to him. More for their state of mind than anything.

He didn't bother going to look. He wanted to move around, but he'd had enough of being followed for several lifetimes.

He stood at the window for a long time, trying to listen to the ocean, but the glass kept most of it at bay. Kept it outside.

The moon was out, reflected thousands of times on the surface of the water. He wasn't sure what time it was.

His hands were trying the windows before he'd realized they'd moved. As if they were just waiting for his notice, they began scrabbling over the glass, looking for a seam, a latch. A way out. He needed to climb out, or at least let some of the outside in.

He wasn't sure what he wanted; wasn't, in fact, sure that he wanted anything.

 _This is habit, nothing more._

His hands fell to his sides, inert. He was suddenly cold. He moved to grab for his coat, before he remembered he now had the option of blankets. He pulled one off the bed, wrapping it around himself as he returned to watch the water.

It was really beautiful. But his eyes kept returning to the sky, watching for movement.  
\---

John missed Earth's noise, where creaks meant rusty hinges, or the bench approaching the top of the ferris wheel. Here, it usually meant that the ceiling or floor was about to give way. Not that it happened all that often. Atlantis, when there wasn't an emergency, was as quiet as a nice hotel in the off-season. It wasn't home yet- there were no squeaky porch swings, and no traffic outside, but the waves were a nice replacement. Usually.  
\---

Ronon's boots squeaked as they walked down the hallway, and he wished he could make them stop. He was too loud for this place. Beads clicked in his hair, boots thundered in the halls. Even his clothes creaked whenever he moved. He couldn't remember being this loud outside. Wondered if it was a sign that he belonged out there, with the rest of the noise.  
\---

Sheppard woke to quiet knocking on his door. Ronon stood there, looking mostly like a caged animal, and unsure of his welcome. He seemed a little frayed, too, like he hadn't slept, and a lot like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

"Is it okay to go outside?" He'd only just lost the guards the day before, but was still glancing over his shoulder, not yet used to the freedom.

"Kind of depends on where, an' how far you want to go," Sheppard squinted, ducking his head into the hall to see what Ronon was looking for. Finding nothing, he stood back. "C'mon in. What's up?"

"Not so good at sitting in one place this long." Ronon said nothing more and John didn't push, already aware that he wasn't used to talking much, much less asking for permission.

"We could go running," Sheppard offered, shrugging.

Appraising his mental facilities, and finding them lacking, Ronon frowned at Sheppard.

"Not like. You know. Being hunted. Sorry. Just, you know, exercise."

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay. Give me a minute, here." He was tired, and wondered if it wasn't too late to suggest Ronon go it alone. Or if maybe Ronon would have preferred it.

Changing in the bathroom, he heard Ronon through the door, his voice a bit stronger than it had been, either by virtue of increased confidence or wakefulness. Regardless, it still came out sounding pretty awkward, like it wouldn't have been said if Sheppard had line of sight on him.

"Don't have to keep apologizing, you know. About the wraith."

"Yeah. I get that. Bad habit."  
\---

Ronon said that he wasn't used to running on metal, and meant that he wasn't used to company slowing him down. But the next morning, he woke Sheppard again- only half an hour early this time, and didn't look over his shoulder once.

  
 **3\. Condemned**

"McKay, got a minute?" Sheppard had meant to follow Rodney out of the mess, but had been waylaid by Lorne, Abrams, and four-to-one odds on the puddlejumpers.

"No. What is it?" He was staring at schematics for the power grid, and John decided prudently not to ask how they related to the C4 inventory, showing on the other screen.

"Are you alright with Ronon being on the team?"

"No more or less than any other military grunt. I mean, I think he'd kill me, given the choice, but it would be on purpose, at least, rather than the fifty accidental deaths I've managed to avoid this week at the hands of Zelenka's department."

"So you're okay with it."

"If you are." Rodney finally tore his eyes away from the screen. "Are you? Wait, were you asking me because you were going to change your mind if I-"

"Just asking your opinion. That's all."

"What's Teyla say? Wait, of course she's for it, or at least enigmatic and pleasant. What's Lorne say?"

"Why you asking about him?"

"He's top rank, after you. Makes sense for him to join the team."

"Not really a good idea to have the two ranking officers on the same team. He's fine with it. We're still trying to adapt to fighting in a new arena, and Ronon's a pro. Besides, until he's integrated to a more comfortable extent, it would be prudent to keep an eye on him. Weir's words, not mine."

"Well, it couldn't hurt. You're not worried about him trying to buck your command like he did today?"

"I've been working with you long enough that I'm kind of used to not being listened to."

Rodney smirked at this, and moved his gaze back to the computer screens.

"Plus, I suppose, if he dies or goes missing, you won't have to go tell his family, since he doesn't have one."

Sheppard was glad Rodney was typing again, as it gave him a moment to stop being offended, and to come up with a rejoinder.

"Yeah. That's it. You should find out, though, in the interest of science. I'll tell him you said so at breakfast tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course."

Sheppard shook his head and left; clearly McKay wasn't paying any attention at all.

"Wait. What?!" He two doors down the hallway when he heard the terrified squeaking. It was the most satisfying sound he'd heard all day.

  
 **4\. Trinity**

The city was never at rest, and time seemed to drag on.

Ronon knew time, for the most part, because it was one of the only things he'd been able to take with him when he ran.

Even so, sometimes, he found himself on planets where the sun didn't set or rise with any sort of familiar regularity. So he guessed, gauging off his own exhaustion, or the occasional cramps of malnourishment.

And sometimes, he was too unconscious or sick to remember to mark the day. The first time, he'd agonized over the decision to mark a day he wasn't sure had passed. By the third time, he'd decided that if he wasn't alive enough to manage such an easy task, he might as well not exist at all. The days went uncounted.

There were days he remembered well, and they were marked off with longer notches, deeper than the others. Wraith kills. There were more long notches in the more recent years, as he got better at killing them, even as they increased their numbers in the hunt.

So, when he told them that he'd been running for seven years, it was only an estimate. He had six blocks of notches of 418 days. On the 347th day of this year, he'd met the Lanteans, and they showed him the husk of Sateda.  
\---

He didn't stop counting. Today was the 372nd day, which here meant two weeks, of seven days, rather than eleven. It felt like cheating, but he said nothing, being in no position to cast aspersions, since he didn't know what day it was on Sateda, and there was no one to ask.

But then he found four of his people, who couldn't tell Ronon what day it was, or even the month, but could tell him of three hundred survivors.

There were three hundred living Satedans, and Kell was one of them.

Kell was of the new Sateda, that burnt, dead thing that he'd built with lies and the bodies of thousands. He would have been demonized in the histories and burned in effigy if there had been anyone left to light the pyres. And while Ronon wasn't a great believer in justice- not anymore- the decision to kill Kell came with a clarity Ronon hadn't felt in years.

Mostly for strategy's sake, and partially for pique, since he'd already jeopardized his position in Atlantis once that day, he had Teyla arrange the meeting. He knew he shouldn't have involved her, but it felt too right, to be fighting for Sateda once again, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.

  
 **5\. Instinct and Conversion**

Sheppard got the feeling that they were slowing Ronon down, especially whenever he threatened to buck orders, or offered to hunt wraith, alone, in the middle of the night. And also whenever it was made clear that Ronon meant to escape, alive, by any means necessary.

On that point, John couldn't disagree, but he wondered if it was a deliberate choice, to shoot first and ask questions of no one. Wondered what would happen if he decided one day that the human race wasn't worth it, or that the lives of Teyla and McKay weren't worth the indignity of following orders. He was pretty sure that Ronon would be the first to leave a stranger to die, since any sentimentality was buried under seven years of living hell.

All the same, he knew Ronon probably could have hunted and killed the wraith, and been back by dawn. If the wraith hadn't been able to take him out when they knew exactly where he was, they had little chance now.

Then again, maybe they had just been playing with their food. Maybe Ronon wasn't as good as he thought he was. On this point, Sheppard hadn't yet asked. So he ordered him to wait for morning, for the rest of them, before going on the hunt.  
\---

Ronon was wondering how they'd ever manage to get anywhere, with Sheppard's hesitation slowing him down. Sheppard's people were too willing to care beyond their own safety, to listen to probable lies. To trust first, and be betrayed later, by absolute strangers.

On the other hand, while Teyla had told no one of Kell, she did not trust him. McKay trusted only himself, unless they were in distress, when he instead trusted Sheppard and Teyla. Sheppard did trust his people, and trusted Ronon enough, most of the time.

He didn't trust Sheppard, some days, either. Because first he was a little fast, and then he was a little insane, and then he was almost a bug, and then he wasn't.

Now he was with them, in the cafeteria, not laughing at something called an existential joke and casually threatening the life of a man named Kafka. Ronon filed the name away, and added it to his list of people to watch out for.

Sheppard wasn't blue anymore, and he wasn't fast, and he was back to himself, like Ronon had known he would be. That he'd actually trusted in _that_ surprised him, and he worried that their penchant for trusting monsters was beginning to rub off on him.

  
 **6\. Aurora**

Apart form the stupid helmet he'd had to wear, which was not made for people with more hair than patience, the wraith in the pod, and the threat of being destroyed by the Daedalus, Ronon wasn't having a horrible time. It was comfortable. Sheppard was hunting down a possible wraith weakness, Rodney was helping, and Teyla was more cheerful than usual, even casual. Even playful, as she conned McKay and stalled Caldwell.

Then again, that night, she conned Ronon just as easily, and a man had nearly died.  
\---

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the sentiment, but after the initial shock, there were too many people milling about, too loud, wanting to offer him drinks or slaps on the back. Wanting to talk and laugh and joke, wanting him to join in. And this had been going on for hours now.

Ronon sat back in the sofa, next to McKay, because his status as the most feared person on Atlantis kept the crowd at bay, and because he didn't expect Ronon to speak. Even so, he did cast over the occasional appraising glance. McKay knew something was up.

He didn't call him on it, though. Not until Sheppard came in from the patio. Ronon watched McKay and Sheppard do that thing that they often did, where they scowled and pointed at each other and apparently had some entire conversation. By the time Sheppard came over to their corner, he already knew the score, and he and McKay traded places, wordlessly.

"You doin' alright there?"

"I'm fine."

"Right. You're just sitting in the corner at your own birthday party, listening to Rodney's drunk ass blathering on. And you're still on your second drink. What's up?"

"Nothing." He kept his eyes trained on the patio, and would have gone out there, had it been twenty people emptier, and not filled with Athosian drums and dancing.

"You're really hating this, aren't you?" Sheppard seemed concerned, and also a little disappointed.

Ronon shrugged. "I don't know. Back _home_ ,"- and he knew he was being petulant, but the music and the commotion and the conversations and the telepathy between McKay and Sheppard were making him really _fucking_ homesick. He drank some American beer and made it worse. "You're supposed to be quiet on the day of your birth. Silent. Take stock of the past year, stuff like that. Alone."

"Ah. I'm guessing this isn't conducive to that."

He shrugged. "It's okay. Never was good at sitting around doing nothing. But now it's weird."

"Right. Well. If you want to leave, you can."

"McKay's not gonna be angry?"

"Nah, I can explain it to him. He'll come around."

"So he'll be angry, first."

"He'll get over it. I mean, he _did_ spend an entire hour figuring out when your birthday would fall on our calendar. But you know? Your actual birthday isn't until day after tomorrow."

"I don't get it. Teyla radios me to come down, I get here, everyone jumps out shouting, I stun that zoologist, and it's _not_ my birthday."

John grimaced a bit, and shrugged his reply. "We're doin' this tonight so everyone, yourself included, can spend tomorrow being as hung over as they need to be. Everyone else will have to work on Monday, but you've got the day off. You can take Tuesday too, if you like. Could go hang out on the mainland for a bit, get away from us, if you want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So if that's got it covered," he smirked.  "You should stick around for a while. Lorne's lining up shots, says he's got one that tastes like chocolate cake, and I got you an awesome present, which you get to open in a little bit. Plus, I don't think everyone's heard the story about how your hair got you stuck in your helmet today."

"Is humiliating people on their birthday an Earth tradition, or are you doing this just to be an ass?"

"Little of both. Just be glad you're too old for spankings, too. Though I don't know," John looked appraising, and was grinning far too much for Ronon's liking. "You _did_ stun the zoologist."  
\---

Sheppard gave him a set of six knives, small, easily hidden and perfectly balanced. When he tested them on an empty beer case, they flew true, as he'd known they would. He'd known ever since he'd caught the insignia of the Satedan army carved into the hilt.

  
 **7\. The Lost Boys**

Wraitheyes was right. This stuff was working, now that it wasn't just making his skin crawl, not like the first few doses had. He needed to move, run, fight, explode.

It was part of him now, though he knew that nothing good could come of the wraith. But there was a perfect symmetry to it. The wraith needed the enzyme to kill humans, and now the humans could use it to kill wraith. And it just felt so damned good.

Still, however, he didn't trust any of them- Wraitheyes or his men. Something watching from the back of his head wondered if he could trust himself.

Teyla was mad with the strength as well. She was never at rest anymore, and never at peace, which Ronon hadn't known he'd been starting to depend on. McKay was McKay, and didn't want Ronon or Teyla anywhere near him anymore, and that stung.

Sheppard watched over them, but was playing along, like he really did expect Ford to come back to them.

Ronon already knew that Sheppard cared for his people, even when they weren't his people anymore, and even if he didn't like them. And even if he was backed into a corner, like he was now. He chose to help Wraitheyes, not only to get McKay back safely. He chose to help Wraitheyes and he really meant it.

Sheppard's sense of loyalty was strong enough that he deserved it in turn, but Wraitheyes didn't return it. Didn't care.

"If he dies, you die."

He was starting to feel ill. The enzyme was wearing off, so maybe wasn't as imposing as he'd wanted to be, because Wraitheyes didn't seem at all upset by the threat. He barely seemed to hear it.

Ronon wasn't making it for him, really, anyway.

  
 **8\. The Hive**

"Walk with me." For as official as he'd sounded, Sheppard said nothing more until they were on the south pier. The ocean was rougher than it had been earlier in the day, all because of a storm still thousands of miles away, but it reflected the sunset a hundred times over.

"What's going on?"

"What do you know about wraith worshippers?"

"What about them?" Ronon growled, unsure if this wasn't some Earther way of making an accusation, or if Sheppard didn't recognize the insult of it.

"They seriously exist? I mean, I met one today, but I just don't get it."

Ronon nodded, relaxing a little. Sheppard was curious, nothing more.

"How's it work?"

"The wraith poison their minds."

"Does it have anything to do with the enzyme?"

He considered this, feeling a little sick. "Maybe."

"You ever come across any before?"

He nodded again.

"Care to elaborate?"

 _No_. "My grandmother."

"Really." Sheppard's spine straightened, but he did not turn. He was listening, waiting, but wasn't ordering Ronon to speak.

Ronon wondered if he would, before deciding he'd prefer to choose to speak than follow an order. He began, in a monotone more deliberate than usual.

"She was harmless. Everyone thought it was old age- the second childhood. Until my sister, Jeena- she was six at the time- went missing. My mother told me to go look for her at my grandmother's house, so I went. It was at the edge of town."

Sheppard shouldn't have been surprised to hear that at some point, Ronon had a sister, had a family, but he'd never thought to ask. He really wanted to, now, but didn't.

"She was really happy to see me. More lucid than I'd expected, but something else was off, too. Took me too long to figure out what it was. I was fifteen, and unskilled. Could barely fight, then."

John wanted to stop him again, and if the story had been anything but this, he probably would have. Instead, he buried his incredulity in his pockets, shoving his hands in to keep it there. A quick glance at Ronon's faint smirk told him it was a topic he could pick up again some other time.

"She'd already fed my sister to the wraith, and she tried to offer me up as well, but I fought. Tried to cut her, just a little bit, to get her to back off, but I opened a vein. Then I killed the wraith."

Ronon was shaking his hair back and pulling off one of his necklaces, handing it over to Sheppard, who only took the gruesome thing in case it might be an insult not to. Ronon glanced at the expression on his face, maybe misreading it.

"She wasn't my grandmother. Not then. She was a _wraithworshipper_. She would've been killed either way." Sheppard was still staring at the bones, noticing some intricate carving on each of them. He didn't ask what they meant, just handed the necklace back to Ronon.

His tone changed, becoming looser, more relaxed, as he diverted the focus back on to the tactical. "They're only a threat if you trust them. Usually the people around them suspect that something is going on, so pay attention to that in the field. Warn your people. But there aren't that many of them- most wraith can't keep from feeding on them for very long."

"Good to know." Sheppard nodded, risking a glance to observe the tension. "I'm sorry, by the way."

That seemed, surprisingly enough, to be the right thing to say, because Ronon smiled. "Don't have to keep doing that. Apologizing 'bout the wraith." Sheppard nodded. "I should've warned you a long time ago about that. Didn't know you didn't know."

"Well, I now I do. Wanna go eat?" They moved back towards the city. "So while we're on the subject, are there any other Pegasus threats you wanna clue me into?" He hoped, selfishly, that Ronon didn't have any other horror stories he wanted to share.

"Um. There's one planet. Hoksh. Friendly people, open to trade for food. Probably because they have these big boneless snakes. Worms, maybe, big as people. They mash 'em up, ferment for a while, and serve as a sort of stew. For almost every meal."

"Don't give me any details. Just tell me you're lying." Ronon was grinning, but he shook his head.

"I know the address. We could go check it out-"

"No. I'm not going to eat rotten mashed worms."

"It's not really that bad-"

"It is, and you know it."

"Right. But McKay doesn't."

"I see where you're going with this, and am ordering you to stop. Unless he takes out another solar system, in which case, all bets are off, and I'll send you along as well, for telling me about it right before dinner."

  
 **9\. Epiphany**

He was fucking alone. And they weren't coming. It had been two fucking days.

They'd sent some supplies through; they weren't really enough, but at least he knew they were thinking of him. An explanation would have been nice, but the water, honestly, was more important, if less comforting than human contact.

 _They're not coming. It's all on me._

Ronon lived like this for seven years, and had to fight the whole time, and hadn't blown his own head off.

I'm not going to last a week.  
\---

He was fucking alone. And they weren't coming. It had been five fucking months.

Atlantis could have been destroyed by now. They could all be dead. He almost hoped they were, because then it meant they hadn't decided he wasn't worth it.

But that was sick. Besides. Even through his worst nights, he knew that if there had been a way, McKay would have found it, and Ronon, at least, would have come through after him.

And besides, he had a new...bunch of people to hang out with. They weren't a family. At least, they weren't _his_ family.

 _Teyla would like it here. For a day or two._

McKay would set fire to this entire village.

Ronon would do it on purpose.  
\---

One day could change everything for a person. Six months could do a lot more. Ronon wasn't sure who it was that came back with them.

Sheppard had been gone for months, and forced abandon what he knew to make a new life with new people. This, at least, Ronon could understand, even if his grasp of manners was sometimes still shaky.

He was trying to figure out if he should apologize for not missing Sheppard yet, or explain that he hadn't had the time to start, when he met Sheppard, showered and shaved, in the hallway.

"Feel better?"

"You have no idea. Seriously. Normality. Shaving. It's the best. You should try it. You eaten yet? I'm starving."

"No. Around here, I'd look like a woman. And no, I've not eaten. Mess?"

"Hell yes." Sheppard rand his hand over his face again. "Cause of the hair thing?"

"Yeah."

"Kavanaugh has long hair. You know what they're serving?"

"Kavanaugh is a woman. No. Do you really care?"

"No."  
\---

"So, I gotta ask. Is it really strange to come back and find only a few hours have gone by?" Rodney asked, between mouthfuls, looking at Sheppard like he was some sort of interesting data set.

"Kind of. Mostly I'm glad."

"Why? So you didn't miss anything?"

"Yeah. And since no one here feels like I was missing that long, they're not walking on eggshells around me."

Rodney and Ronon both glanced pointedly across the room at Teyla, talking to Weir a few tables over.

"For the most part," he amended, and shoveled more Jello into his mouth. "Damn, I missed normal food."  
\---

Ronon couldn't follow the movie, and understood less than half of the things the marines were laughing at. He was too busy covertly watching Sheppard.

Sheppard was sitting on the other side of the couch, trying to look engrossed in the movie. He kept fidgeting, though, and looking around with quick movements, confirming either that he was really there, or that everyone else was.

For all his talk about how nice it was to not have people acting like they cared, Ronon wondered if it was true. Because Sheppard kind of looked like he could use it. He wished Teyla was here. Or Weir. Or anyone who knew how to calm people down.

Ronon felt the eyes on him, so he kept his own aimed at the screen. After a few moments, though, he turned, incrementally, to meet them, and was a little stunned by their intensity.

He glanced away, steeling himself, and back again. They held each other's gaze for a few moments too long, and Ronon found himself grinning, just out of nerves.

Sheppard laughed back, barely audible over the onscreen explosions, and kicked him in the shin, before turning back to watch the movie.  
\---

 _He and Sheppard were bound, arms tied together, and being forced towards the active gate by the Marines not covering them from the control room. All exits were blocked._

Sheppard was yelling at Rodney, who stood, hand still hovering over the DHD, asking why they were doing this, where they were sending them. He was furious, raging, and dragging Ronon down in his manic struggle.

It was all Ronon could do to keep pace with the whirlwind. He couldn't think. It was like being on the enzyme all over again, without the added strength. He couldn't fight it, and couldn't dodge the blows as Teyla and Lorne beat at them, edging them towards the gate.

Towards their banishment.

He couldn't find the words, or the courage, to ask what they'd done to deserve this, but he felt the shame, burning under his skin. At risk of spreading it to John, he grabbed his wrist, because he had to apologize, and knew that no one else would hear him.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

He wasn't sure if he spoke it aloud, but Sheppard looked at him with the same intensity he'd used before, in a different lifetime, and Ronon was undone even before his body dematerialized in the event horizon.  
\---

Ronon woke up, mortified. But there was no one there to see.

He got up, and took a shower to wash off the fear and the sweat, before deciding to go for a run. And if he hesitated by Sheppard's door, it was merely out of habit, nothing more.

Besides, even if this wasn't a prophetic dream- and there was no way to know at this point- just waking Sheppard probably wouldn't affect the outcome, one way or the other.

But talking to him right now just might.

  
 **10\. Critical Mass**

Ronon was still uneasy, even after Caldwell had left Atlantis. He'd long known of threats other than the wraith, but he wondered how many of Sheppards Earth had.

Sheppard circled around him, bantos sticks held to the sides, considering the big alien threat in front of him.

"Why did you wait so long?" Ronon asked, blocking two hits, and attacked.

Sheppard saw it coming, but didn't dodge out quickly enough. "Ow. Torturing people isn't something we take lightly."

"Maybe you should," Ronon gasped, as a hit to the arm connected.

"You serious?"

Ronon didn't speak, but his expression said yes. They circled each other for a few moments, as Sheppard thought about it.

"We didn't even have the right guy when it was time to deal with it. It's a mess."

"Your people react, more than you act."

"Yeah. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we have to think about how things will play out before we go do something." Sticks connected several times, but no hits were made, and they separated again.

"I'm just wondering why wouldn't your people do everything necessary to deal with a threat like that." His next attack hooked Sheppard behind the knee and he went down.

Sheppard rolled over onto his stomach and picked himself up, waving him off as he went to grab a water bottle. "We have. It's different, is all. I guess." Sheppard grinned, humorlessly.

  
 **11\. Grace Under Pressure and The Tower**

They were camped, for the third night in a row, on P4X-744, babysitting the engineers while they put the finishing touches of a filtration and irrigation system for their new best friends, in hopes that they would, one day soon, be able to subsist on anything besides fermented worm stew.

Sheppard walked the perimeter of their campsite, admittedly more bored than alert, a fact brought roughly home when he was tackled to the ground. He started fighting as he fell, but by the time he'd landed, he'd felt the dreadlocks brushing against his neck.

"Hi, Ronon."  
"Hi."  
"Why did you do that?"  
"You let your guard down."  
"I know. So this is you teaching me a lesson, then?"  
"Yeah."  
"Okay. If I say that I've got it, would you get the hell off of me?"  
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Ronon stood up, dragging Sheppard with him.  
"Jeez, warn a guy, would ya?" He brushed dirt off his clothes, and, deciding that this perimeter check was already a wash, moved back towards the fire.  
"Before launching a surprise attack? Sure thing."  
Sheppard rolled his eyes right back at him. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"  
They sat down, shoulder to shoulder in front of the low fire. There was a chill in the air, almost cold enough to wish for heavier coats, but not quite. Ronon, not for the first time, had apparently assigned himself the duty of not only handling his own watch, and staying awake to listen for trouble during Rodney's, but also keeping Sheppard awake through his.  
"Probably, but… Not happening tonight, I guess." Ronon spun a knife, idly, still smirking. "I could cover your watch, if you want. And you should, seeing as how you've already been defeated once tonight."  
Sheppard just looked at him. Every time they had the argument, it always wound up the same. Ronon continued, cheerfully. "Really. I'm not tired. I'll sleep in the jumper on the way back."  
"But before that, you'll get tired and cranky, and I have to put up with you." This, as Sheppard had expected, was met with an eye-roll, which he countered with an embarrassingly jaw-popping yawn. "See? I rest my case."

 **12\. The Long Goodbye**

Ronon was barely breathing by the time the medics got there, and with the power out, not only was Beckett without light, but also without most of his diagnostic tools.

It was the closest to death as Ronon had ever been, but he hadn't been awake to know it.  
\---

Sheppard nodded when Carson gave his report, knowing that Thalen's call for a medic had been a diversion, nothing more. With the resources focused on Ronon, less had been focused on him, and he'd been able to move a bit more freely. That minor convenience had been a definite tactical advantage.

Sheppard wished he didn't know that, or what it felt like to see Ronon as nothing more than collateral damage.

When he went on patrol that night, he could not look his marines in the eye, for fear that they would see that he'd almost killed his teammate. He couldn't let them know that he could have killed _all_ of them in the crossfire, and wouldn't have given it a second thought.  
\---

The first time Ronon woke, Carson tried to explain what was happening to him, but he couldn't track the flow of words through the painkillers. He wasn't able to ask if Sheppard had been killed before fading out.

The second time he woke, Sheppard was asleep in a chair next to his bed.

Ronon thought about waking him, but he didn't know what he'd do when those eyes looked at him, or what he would say.

Ronon had set himself up for betrayal before, and had vowed never to repeat the mistake. But, until he was bleeding on the floor, gut-shot, he hadn't been able to believe that Sheppard would ever turn on him. As terrifying and wrong as it was, the instinct to believe in Sheppard had remained.

Ronon turned his head away and watched the walls for what seemed like a very long time, trying to decide what to think.  
 _Sheppard isn't Kell. He's not. He's not Kell._

  
  
 **13\. Coup D'etat**

"You could talk to Weir," Ronon was awfully close to whining as he followed Beckett down the hall towards the infirmary. "I can handle this. I can get them back."

"No, son. You can't."

"I'm fine."

"You're fine when there's an arrow through your leg. Doesn't mean I'm fine with it. I cannot allow you to go out on a mission this dangerous. It's only been a month since you were severely injured, and you're lucky I let you off world at all. This is the worst kind of situation I could let you get into right now. I'm sorry."

"You let me off world to investigate-"

"Aye, son, but that was just an investigation, and Teyla was there to watch your back. Sending you in on a rescue mission? I'm sorry. Elizabeth's right."

Ronon rolled his eyes and stalked off. Beckett radioed Weir as soon as he thought Ronon was out of earshot. "Don't let Ronon talk you into anything. He wants through the gate, he's ready for war, and still not healed enough for action."

Weir almost smirked when she saw the man in question stalk into the room. She could feel his eyes on her, calculating the best approach to use in order to get through the gate.

The smirk had fallen completely off her face by the time Cowan told them that they'd "forfeited" Sheppard, she felt sick. She tried not to look at Ronon, tried to ignore his fury. She couldn't afford that contagion right now.

  
 **14\. Michael**

Ronon left the infirmary, murder in his eyes, stalking to put distance between himself and the room where Michael lay, finally sedated and silent. Sheppard looked again at Carson, who pretended not to notice the rage-induced awkwardness Ronon's sudden departure had created, but he shook his head at Sheppard when he made to follow.

Sheppard met with Weir to hear Lorne's debriefing, and checked in with McKay about some jumper modifications Zelenka had proposed. Neither meeting went as long as he wanted. Weir and Lorne were predictably reasonable, and McKay unpredictably so. Even the jaunt out to the mainland, to drop Teyla off for the evening, went quickly.

"You alright with this entire playing around with this wraith genetics thing?"

"We have already decided that the benefits are worth pursuing. Though I do admit, it is uncomfortable having a wraith on Atlantis. I hope that, should this work, at least some of the tensions will ease."

"How have you been feeling? I mean, with the wraith-sensing and all."

"It has been unpleasant. But it is changing. I believe Beckett's cure is working- my sense of the wraith presence is weakening. Even so, I must admit that it will be a relief to spend the evening distanced from the city."

"I bet. Plus, you get to hang out with your own people."

"I have been looking forward to it for some time."

"Really?" Sheppard glanced over from the HUD. "You realize that you don't have to wait for a convenient reason to visit the settlement, right?"

"I do. But I would rather be available to assist, in the event that something happens in Atlantis. Besides. For all the distance separating me from my own people, it is still the least, compared to everyone else in the city."

"That may be, but seriously. You want to go visit for a day or two, don't hesitate to ask. Hell, you don't even have to ask. Just tell us."

"Thank you, John."

"Ah, it's nothing."

"I should tell you, I came across Ronon on the way to the jumper bay. He looked most uncomfortable, and angry. I invited him to join me for the evening in the village, but he declined. I must admit, that he would stay in such close proximity to a wraith when given the option was surprising."

"You know how he is. He's already expecting seventeen worst-case scenarios, and probably already has his gun set to kill. Just waiting for an excuse. He's terrible at letting anyone else take care of things, and he's not an optimist."

"He and McKay are more alike than they know."

"And they should probably never find out, either."

"No. At least, not until Ronon's mood improves."  
\---

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" Sheppard watched the heavy bag, still swinging from the last punch. Ronon rounded on him and came up short.

Sheppard didn't let himself think that he'd startled him. It wasn't surprise he was faced with, now. It was anger. He glared back for a minute, knowing it wouldn't lead to an answer.

"Yeah. Okay. Stupid question. There's a wraith in the city. But we have to test the retrovirus. And by the way. I remember that you were at the meeting. You agreed to it."

 _Only because I was tired of telling everyone else in the room how it was a bad idea, and having none of you listen to me. You're willing to trust a wraith, more than you were willing to listen to me, and there's no way this is going to end well. You're not going to believe me until it's too late and everything you love is destroyed._

Ronon said none of this, but Sheppard seemed able to read his thoughts.

"Well. Eventually, you did. Under protest, I know." Sheppard knew better than to argue the point. "There's not anything to be done about it right now. Look. If it comes down to it, and we need to kill him, I'll try and let you have the first shot."

"Only gonna need the one."

"No doubt. In the meantime, you need to promise that you won't do anything to sabotage Beckett's work." He sighed, and shook his head, eyes to the ceiling, and Ronon had to stop himself from striking Sheppard in the throat.

"But-"

"Ronon, it's an _order_." Sheppard's glare was icy as he crowded into Ronon's space. "Fucking hell, you need me to draw you a picture? If _anything_ fucks up Beckett's tests, we'll have to do this all over again. And I _will_ make sure that you're in there again, holding _another_ wraith down with your bare hands. Every. Goddamned. Day. You get that?"

Ronon's shoulders were still set tight against the reprimand, but he relented, nodding.

"Okay."  
\---

Ronon stood at the edge of the gate room, watching as Lorne and his team surrounded and picked up the coffin, and began to walk it slowly through the ring. Sheppard talked about some place called Afghanistan and Kabul, and it sounded like he'd known the man even then. Ronon hadn't known Kohl at all.

He detached himself from the wall when the gate shut down and the others began to disperse, matching steps with Sheppard, who didn't say anything, but also didn't seem like he was planning on looking at him any time soon.

"I'm sorry. About Sergeant Kohl."

"Don't have to keep apologizing about the wraith." Sheppard spoke in a monotone as they continued down the hallway. "And I probably owe you an apology. You were right. This entire retrovirus testing was a bad idea. We definitely shouldn't have done it here in the city. And now the wraith are on their way."

"What happens now?"

"Now? I have to get the report written on this entire fucking mess."

They had arrived at Sheppard's office, and stopped at the door. Sheppard looked reluctant to enter, rocking back on his heels and finally looked him in the eye when Ronon spoke.

"You want me to bring some food by later?"

"No. Wait. Sure. I'm going to be here pretty late."

"Okay." Ronon nodded, and turned back towards the gate room.

"Hey," Sheppard started, something different in his tone, and Ronon looked back when he felt the hand on his arm. "Sorry I blocked your shot, earlier. I know before, I said I'd let you kill him."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." Sheppard took his hand back, dropping it down to his side in a loose fist. "I need you to know that I trust you, Ronon, even if it seemed like I didn't. You were right, and I'm sorry that we didn't listen to you."

Such a basic admission shouldn't have hit Ronon as hard as it did, but he felt it carving warmly through his insides. He nodded, and turned away before letting it cut up through his face, splitting it in a mortifyingly pleased grin.

  
 **15\. Inferno**

He hoped the children weren't dead, but he couldn't stop to check. He talked to them instead, hoping their silence was because they were too busy trying to breathe, and not because they'd stopped.

"We can get you to safety. My friends are good people. They will leave no one behind. They've got a good plan, I promise. It's not far now. You will be safe, and with your family. Don't be afraid."

Ten minutes later, he was made a liar, and had to speak to the children's parents.

"The tunnel has collapsed. There is nothing we can do. Help may still come, but if it does not," _we will all die_ , "then at least take comfort that you are with your family. I am sorry."

Teyla wasn't looking too good. He didn't look her in the eyes, in case either of them slipped and showed fear. Instead, he listened to her breathing, and tried not to think about Sheppard, trapped underground. If he was alive, if he was safe. If he was scared, and if his eyes showed it.

He pressed close to Teyla, offering the only amount of comfort his exhausted body could afford, and repeated her earlier words, because he'd already been made a liar once, and there were a thousand lonelier deaths than this.

"While we can breathe, there's hope."

He focused on the feeling of Teyla's arm against his, until he could feel nothing at all.  
\---

Sheppard hesitated in the doorway, watching Ronon go through something that looked like it would have been dangerous, if he hadn't been so clearly exhausted. He was overdoing it. When he slowed, Sheppard took the opening, and stepped into the gym.

"Got a minute?"

Ronon raised his eyebrows, but he stilled, breathing heavily. "Yeah."

"Something that seemed like a good idea before I got here. Look. You know how terrible I am at this…personal stuff."

"Yeah."

"Not like _you_ can talk," Sheppard quirked an eyebrow at Ronon's answering smirk. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry that we couldn't get to you and Teyla."

"That wasn't your fault." Ronon coughed, then straightened again. "Besides. We're fine."

"I know. But we don't leave our people behind, and there was nothing- I didn't…we didn't know, until…Anyhow, I'm glad you and Teyla were together, at least. And that you aren't dead. Didn't know if you knew it."

"Yeah. Um. You too."

"Yes, well. My other reason to come down here was to tell you that Carson said to knock off whatever it is you're doing and get some rest."

"Oh yeah? I'm not tired."

"Yeah. Well, I'm not supposed to let you leave my sight until you've tucked into some food and tucked into bed. Carson's words, not mine, but I'm making it an order. So hit the showers and meet me in the mess in ten."

Sheppard waited for half an hour, and tried catching Ronon on the radio twice, before he grabbed a tray and went to Ronon's quarters, letting himself in when there was no answer.

He found Ronon clutching what was probably a shirt, and wearing only a towel. He was mostly on the bed, managing to be ungainly and graceful all at once, and looked like he'd sat down just before passing out.

He set the tray down on the dresser and approached the bed, wondering if he'd be able to wake Ronon without winding up with a gun in his face. He stopped a few feet short, distracted by a patch of skin just above Ronon's hip, and the curve of his neck, bared by the dreadlocks that had fallen into his face.

"Ronon." No response. He tried again, louder this time.

" _Ronon_. Wake up. Ronon!"

Ronon tensed, but was otherwise unmoving. But he was definitely awake.

"Relax, Ronon, it's me. _John_."

"Hmh?" Ronon grinned, easy and sleepy, before eyes opened, slowly, and threatened to close again. "Hey _John_."

"Hey," John smirked. "You ditched me. But I'm feeling benevolent, so I brought you some grub. But you should probably sleep."

"I _was_ sleepin'," Ronon growled, before his voice turned into a cough, and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You should probably lie down properly, get under the covers."

"'Mfine" The mumbled response was automatic, but Ronon was already rolling over onto his stomach, threatening to dislodge the towel as he did so, eyes already closing again.

John studiously kept his eyes averted and grabbed the blankets from where they'd been kicked aside and pulled them up over Ronon's shoulders.

"Well, I've done my due diligence, you stubborn sonofabitch. Beckett will have to be satisfied. I'm leaving your food here on the desk," he muttered.   He glanced back over his shoulder when he reached the door, waving it open.  "G'night, sleeping beauty." 

"Night, talking beauty," was the half-awake rejoinder, murmured from the bed.

If Ronon's eyes were open, he would have seen Sheppard's face freeze, caught between shock and confusion, before moving on to an amusement that wasn't given voice until he was several doors down the hallway. Sheppard had to fight to keep it under control as he continued on towards the gate room.

He didn't want to explain to anyone what Ronon had said, or how adorable it had sounded. And he _definitely_ didn't want to explain that when he himself had spoken, he might have meant it.

  
 **16\. Allies, No Man's Land, and Misbegotten**

John finished tweaking his report, and sent it to Elizabeth, finally allowing his back the stretch it had needed for the past hour. He shut the computer down, and stood up, blinking as his eyes tried to focus on anything other than the computer screen.

His office looked the same as it had yesterday, and it was a relief. It meant nothing, really had changed, even if it didn't feel like it.

There were a lot of things he didn't put in the report. Like how he worried that Michael's erstwhile humanity may have poisoned their resolve. Or how naïve they were, to be so willing to negotiate with the enemy, eve while expecting a double cross. Or how blasting a planet from orbit, even if they weren't all human, is one hell of a way to erase a mistake. Or how much Ronon had without even trying, had more influence on that decision, than John himself wanted to admit.

He grabbed a sweatshirt and a six-pack from the fridge, and made his way to the east pier. He considered stopping in to see if Ronon was still awake, but decided against it. He needed clarity, not confusion. He needed to think, or at least some time in his own head, even if the company would have been nice.

Besides, if Ronon was awake, which was probably true, he was probably outside, and would join him if he felt like it. John knew it was a compromise.

Compromise. That one word had gotten them into so much trouble lately.

Ronon wasn't _unable_ to compromise, as much as he was unwilling. At least _somebody_ was, because apparently, now, they needed someone to keep them honest.

Sheppard was starting his second beer, staring out at the moon-shot water, when he realized he was being watched. As he'd suspected, a few minutes later, Ronon silently joined him. John handed him a beer, never tearing his eyes from the water.

Ronon didn't speak, and Sheppard was grateful for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**17\. Irresistible**

The entire city had been in love with Lucius, but Ronon had _glowed_ with it. It had transformed him, almost. Or maybe Sheppard had just seen a glimpse of the person Ronon could have been, in a different life. Someone unafraid of blinding the room, smiling easily, laughing often.

Sheppard hated it, though. It was a side that Ronon would not have shown of his own volition. Sheppard shouldn't have felt like he'd snuck into Ronon's room and read his diary, just for knowing what utter joy looked like on his face, and how fucking _beautiful_ it was.  
\---

"…You're not letting any of us live it down, are you?" McKay set his fork down, and rubbed his hand over his face.

"Depends. Let me see. How long did you give me shit over Chaya?"

"That stopped a long time ago."

"Tuesday," Ronon corrected, shoveling more potatoes into his mouth.

"Lucius Lavin sounds like a porn star name," Sheppard continued. "Luscious Love-In, starring Lucius Lavin. What do you think?"

"Shut up, John. I'm trying to eat."

"I'm serious!"

"I know, and it's just making it so much worse!"

Ronon had stopped chewing, and decided to interject. "What's a porn star?"

McKay choked on his food. When he finished coughing, he waved at Sheppard as he reached for his coffee.

"Well, John? You gonna explain it to the guy?" Now Rodney was grinning, unrepentant.

"It's someone who has sex on camera."

"What?" Ronon looked at him like he was insane.

"Please don't tell me I have to explain what sex is," John groaned, rolling his eyes, cutting a glare at McKay, who was not even trying to keep a straight face.

"On camera?" Ronon swallowed his food, gesturing at them with his fork. "Your people record it?"

"The porn stars do. They make movies. Internet sites. Magazines."

Ronon stopped eating, possibly for emphasis, and scowled at Sheppard like he'd said that all Earthlings ate babies for breakfast. "And you watch it."

"Not everyone. More than will admit to it."

"Do you?"

"I have." Sheppard resolutely didn't look in McKay's direction. "Not lately." He grinned again. "That is, unless I find something interesting on the security feeds from the last few days."

"What are you _talking_ about?" McKay cut in, but looked like he was just figuring it out on his own, so Sheppard continued.

"Come on. You were _all_ in love with Lucius, and _no_ one slept with him?"

"We're _men_ ," Ronon scowled, apparently convinced that Sheppard was an idiot or insane.

"So? What's that got to do with anything when you're in love? I saw you both looking at him like you wanted to." John grinned, deliberately careless, while thinking _Ronon is straight. Unfortunate. Good to know. Damn.  
_  
"I didn't have sex with him!" Rodney spoke, loudly, and rolled his eyes at the stares from the other table. "I mean. No big deal, if someone did. It's not like I'm some _American_ or anything. But I remember everything from this week. Whether I want to or not," he finished, lamely, and looked up at Sheppard's grin. "Shut up, Colonel 'I have to go view the security feeds because I'm a total voyeur,' Sheppard."

Ronon said nothing, but still looked a little uncomfortable, almost nervous, and Sheppard schooled his features accordingly. "I'm only doing it so I can delete anything…potentially embarrassing, before anyone decides to syndicate the damned thing."

John picked up his tray and hurried out of the mess, head held carefully high, because it wasn't a retreat.  It wasn't.

  
 **18\. Sateda**

Knowing that there were planets out there that blamed Ronon for their destruction really pissed John off.

Then again, so did Ronon.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," Ronon was lying on the bed, still dressed, staring at the ceiling. Looking exhausted and, if Beckett was Beckett, a little stoned. He was clean now, though, and Sheppard could see the edge of a bandage sticking out of Ronon's collar, glaring white in the near-darkness.

"How're you doing?" Sheppard leaned against a cabinet and crossed his arms. Keeping his distance, and looked around the Spartan room, wondering distractedly if Ronon liked it that way.

"I'm fine." After a beat, he mirrored John's smirk. "Okay. Maybe a little tired," he admitted, shrugging. Tired was nothing.

"Okay. Well, this can wait," Sheppard offered, half hoping he'd take it.

"You're here now, we might as well get it over with." He sat up.

"Yeah, well, I think this one's been brewing."

Sheppard watched Ronon's grin fade as he nodded his agreement distractedly. Staring at nothing in particular, he began to speak. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry. For everything. I didn't mean to hold a gun on you. Again. And I didn't mean to jeopardize the team, I just…"

"The hostage. Did you mean to do that?"

"Yeah."

"Did you mean to hold a knife to your own throat?" Sheppard's voice was quieter still.

" _Yes_." Ronon looked sharply. "It was the only way."

"Well, it _was_ a freaky move. We thought you were going to go through with it. But you're too much of a fighter for that, right?"

"Yeah." John could have stood to have heard a little more of a heartfelt response, but decided to prudently move on.

"You should run things like that past us first. Look. You know what you're doing, most of the time. But this cowboy shit gets you in over your head sometimes, and the rest of us with you."

"Right. I'm sorry." Ronon was poking at his own leg, pressing into the wound there, annoyed that he could barely feel it.

"I'm just saying that next time, try and reason things out a bit. Or listen to reason, at least."

"You mean listen to _you_." Ronon's face was blank, but Sheppard could hear the sarcasm through the monotone.

"Yes. That's the deal."

"Fine."

"Okay then." Sheppard nodded once, turned on his heel, and moved towards the door, where he stopped, and tried to decide if he was about to capitulate, or if this was just understanding of how shitty Ronon's week had been. He turned back.

"Actually, I probably meant that you should listen to Teyla. _I_ should have stunned you and dragged you off Sateda right when we found you, and thrown you in the brig as soon as Carson cleared you. So I  _really_ can't come down all high and mighty. Sorry. Just make sure your heart doesn't get the best of you, okay? Use your head once in a while, and we'll be fine." He could tell Ronon was preparing to make some sort of smartass remark, and headed him off at the pass. "Pot, kettle, I know, but hey. We good for now?"

"Yeah." Ronon's response came with no useful inflection.

"Then goodnight."

  
 **19\. Progeny**

It was cold and raining outside, and he'd had enough of both to fill up two lifetimes, so Ronon reluctantly stayed indoors. He considered going to the gym, but he had already fought a losing battle for hours today. Physically, he felt fine, restless even, but mentally, he was exhausted.

He wandered the halls instead, thinking about replicators, nanites, and the egotistic stupidity of the ancients.

A year ago, he 'd still considered the Ancients as something akin to gods. He'd never worshipped them, but some in his family had. He was glad of this. He didn't adore them, so a little disillusionment regarding their character wasn't all consuming. Just annoying, whenever he thought about it.

Sheppard was in the mess hall, rough eyes barely open over a cup of coffee. As Ronon got closer, he saw exhaustion radiating from the slim frame, and the white knuckles around the coffee cup.

"Hey." Sheppard smiled, too brightly to be convincing. "What's up?"

Ronon shrugged. "Nothing. You should be sleeping. You're dead on your feet."

"Half an hour before Lorne's team is due to check in, so I figured I'd stay up. Then I'm going to crash. Blowing Atlantis up takes a lot out of a guy, even if it only happened in my head." Sheppard was trying too hard to be convincing.

Ronon was struck with the impulse to touch him, somewhere innocuous. On the arm, or back. He wanted to get him some coffee that at least _looked_ warm. He wanted to say all sorts of things, like how Sheppard shouldn't have that defeat hanging in his eyes, because hallucination or not, he had gotten everyone else out first. That he had done well, that he had saved everyone.

But they didn't comfort each other. Not like that. So he said, "Know what you mean. Keep thinking that I'm supposed to have three broken ribs right now," and apparently, that was the right thing to say after all, because Sheppard relaxed, and grinned.

"So this means I'm going to have a fighting chance at kicking your ass in the morning?"

  
 **20\. The Real World**

Ronon half-listened to McKay and Sheppard's argument about the meal they'd just eaten as he watched for Teyla among the people filtering into the room. She wasn't, which was odd, because this was a good way to learn about Earth culture, and she usually was the first one to ask questions afterward. Ronon knew he wasn't as good at articulating them, but he still liked hearing the answers.

Soon, though, the lights were turned down, and he turned his attention to the screen as Zelenka announced that Lorne's team had selected tonight's double feature.

The first movie began, starting with two men in a dirty tiled room, and then more torture than humans were supposed to be capable of. Ronon repeatedly found himself closing his eyes, having to remind himself that it was just a film.

 _This is not real._

Ronon wanted to leave, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the screen.

 _They're acting._

He wished he had, though, because the second movie was no better. One person was burned alive. A woman was thrown into a pit full of syringes.

 _People don't do this._

He glanced away from the movie, and looked over to the far side of the room, where Cadman laughed at something Lorne had said, while they eyed the screen like vultures.

 _They just watch it for entertainment._

He wasn't sure what he looked like, but it probably wasn't good, because Sheppard nudged him as soon as the credits began to roll. He looked apologetic, which meant that something must have been showing on his own face. "You doing alright?"

Ronon moved his legs so a group of scientists, arguing already, could step past. Looking around, he saw the marines preparing for the shift change. No one was listening to them.

 _They're not supposed to get away with it. They're not supposed to win_ , he was thinking, but he didn't want to explain it to Sheppard, or have Sheppard explain anything to him. Not right now. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He wandered the halls for an hour or two, before returning to his quarters, knowing that he was due for some bad dreams, and not eager to rush towards them. He found Sheppard waiting outside his door, leaning against the wall, looking tired. Nodding, he opened the door, and allowed Sheppard to follow him inside. "What's up?"

"Kind of got the impression you weren't impressed with the movie. Didn't get it, or didn't like it? You split out of there before we could do the usual Q and A."

"Neither."

John's lips quirked sleepily. "Fair enough. I'm not surprised, really. I warned Teyla about it, but I forgot to tell you. Anyhow, I know you sometimes…" He sighed, and shook his head, before proffering a small bottle, handing it to Ronon. "They're sleeping pills. I just got them off Beckett, since we have to be up in a little less than six hours to gate through for the mission. Take _one_ if you're having trouble sleeping." Sheppard looked like he was trying not to embarrass Ronon, so he played along.

"Okay." He shook the bottle. "You need one?"

"No thanks." Sheppard actually smiled, shaking his head. "Got my own when I need them. Anyhow, see you in a few hours." He began making his way back out of the room.

"Sheppard. Hang on. The movies. Why do your people like them?"

"Earth is, for most people, safe enough that most people go through life having nothing to fear. They like the reminder, maybe. I dunno." He shrugged. "That's just my guess."

"Did you like the movies?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"The good guys didn't win. Always kind of bugs me."

"Yeah. Same here." He found himself almost matching Sheppard's grin. "Anyhow, thanks. For the pills."

"No problem. See you in the morning."

Ronon didn't like taking medicine. Painkillers dulled everything too much; these would probably make him stupid in the morning. They might make him slow. They might make him unable to wake from whatever nightmare he might not have in the first place.

But Sheppard had thought he might need or want them, and that counted for a lot, apparently, because he took one of the pills before stripping for bed.

He lay down, and began to doze off. Somewhere in the haze, he was surprised to find that he wasn't thinking about what it would feel like to gouge out his own eye, or have his jaw ripped off. Instead he was thinking about Sheppard. That he cared enough to wait up for him, to make sure he got some sleep, and to do what he could to stand between Ronon and his nightmares, without saying so.

He felt warm and fearless, comfortable and heavy in his bed. Shoulders relaxing, letting the day's guard drop, he began to fall into a soft sleep. His last conscious thought was that Beckett, and Sheppard, both knew their medicine.

  
 **21\. Common Ground**

When he'd first come to Atlantis, they had showed him Sateda on the monitors. They showed him that there wasn't enough of it left to return to. Sateda's destruction had not truly surprised him, but by confirming his suspicions, they might as well have showed him the destruction of hope itself.

 _And it's happening again._

On a good day, the monitors showed him a fight he could win. On a bad day, like today, the monitors showed him Sheppard, dying, and Ronon had no idea how he'd recover from losing that much hope all over again.

 _You start thinking like that now, you'll return from battle with the fear, good to no one. You'll bare your chest to the wraith, just to get it over with._

He hated that he managed to hold his tongue, as Weir did nothing but talk.

 _This place is making you weak. You are a fighter. Your family would be shamed._

The Earthers were his allies, possibly even his friends, but they were not his people.

 _This path is not for you. Not anymore._

He just didn't know how he was going to tell Sheppard that. Or if he would be alive to hear it.

 _Because without Sheppard, there is nothing left but the fight._  
\---

He fell into step next to Sheppard as he meandered back towards his quarters, apparently taking the doctor's stern command to directly to bed with about as much seriousness as could be expected.

"You coming in?" Sheppard looked up at his erstwhile chaperone, grinning humorlessly.

"Yeah."

The door was barely closed before he'd caught Sheppard's shoulders in a grip far shakier than he would have liked. Before he could resist, Ronon grabbed the hem of his shirt and forced it up over Sheppard's head.

"What the- Ronon, I'm alright. Seriously." Sheppard sounded irritated and cranky, and the sense of urgency dissipated. Ronon kept his hands on Sheppard's back, moving again up towards the shoulders, before turning him around.

"There're no scars," he started, not knowing how to finish the thought.

"Nope. Good as new. Better, if you'd believe McKay." Sheppard moved as if he was about to step away, but Ronon held fast, finally time looking him in the eye.

"That was too close," he growled, almost surprised at how angry he sounded.

"No shit. But I'm okay now. A little wired. Wishing that the Genii didn't exist, but I'm fine." He grinned, infuriatingly reassuring, and grabbed Ronon's wrists, but made no further move to escape. "Hey. You okay?" His voice carried enough concern that Ronon stumbled over it.

"Why are you asking me that? I'm fine."

"Yeah, because you're _really_ acting like it."

Ronon sighed and stepped back, not yet breaking contact, while he tried to decide whether to leave, or stay and fight. He began talking before he could stop himself. "We saw everything-"

"I _know_ ," Sheppard sounded more irritated than he looked, or embarrassed, or maybe he took pity on Ronon, because he grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. It didn't last long, but Ronon felt John's heart beating, strong in his chest.

"Seriously, I promise I'm okay, alright?" He pulled away, and Ronon let him go, folding his arms against his own chest to keep a piece of that warmth close.

"It shouldn't have been a wraith that saved you."

"Well, ideally, no," Sheppard agreed, relenting under the glare. "But, look, Ronon. What is this all about? We've all been through shit like this. You realize we should be drinking beer and exchanging fight stories by now, right? So what's going on?"

"Your people. I don't know if I can stay here."

" _What_?"

"You heard me."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"We sat the control room watching you die. On a fucking _screen_. We weren't out there, closing in on your position. We were safe, you were _dying_ , and no one would let me come after you."

"Well, the fact that no one knew where to _find_ me-"

"Doesn't matter. They should have let me try."

"Where would you have looked?"

"Not the point."

"But-" Sheppard shook his head. "Look. I know how it feels. A lot like knowing that we were leaving you in a cage, holding a knife to your own throat and waiting for the wraith to come, I'm guessing."

"Don't make this about me."

"Why not? You're the one talking about _leaving_." Sheppard stepped away, pulling a sweatshirt on as he made his way to the fridge, evidently having made some sort of decision.  "I'm grabbing a beer. You want one?"

"No."

"You sure? I've got to talk you out of this, and it might be easier for me if you're drunk."

"Fine." Ronon grinned, despite himself, and took the peace offering Sheppard held out.

"Weir and Radim were in a tight spot," John cracked his beer open, and took a sip. "They did what they thought was best." John spoke quietly, reasonably, and Ronon couldn't help but follow suit.

"They almost sacrificed you. They did wrong."

John seemed to consider this. "They did what they had to do. They did everything right by the book."

"What book? Sounds like it was written by idiots."

"Most of the ones in this genre do. But seriously, give us another chance."

"Okay."

"Okay? Good. And thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For having my back. Or at least wanting to."

  
 **22\. McKay & Mrs. Miller**

He isn't hungry, but there's nothing else to do, and he knows that at times like this, being too far away from the center of the crisis is just as bad as being underfoot in the labs. Teyla is in the gym, leading a bunch of people in meditation, so there is nothing else to do besides wait it out. And eat lunch.

He's listening to the scientists talking over the radio, and would like to take it off, but Sheppard might call him back into action, so he does not. Even if he has to listen to Kavanaugh's voice while he eats.

He runs into Rod- not Rodney, not their McKay, but this stranger with a familiar face, on his way into the mess. With all the destruction-of-the-universe stuff that is apparently moments or hours away, he's surprised that Rod isn't in the labs, trying to drag the day out of the chaos.

Then again, this _really_ isn't their McKay, but he nods when Rod sits down with his own tray, because it's not Rod's fault.

"So, I gotta ask you something, but you don't have to answer me, unless you want to, is that-"

"What do you want to know?"

"Well," Rod sips from his cup. "I don't know, actually. I'm curious about everything. But there's one thing…okay, I'm guessing you like long-winded preambles about as much as my Ronon does, so I'll just cut right to it." He leans across the table, into Ronon's space, and Ronon has to remind himself that this isn't his McKay, and that this is normal behavior, in some universe. "You and John Sheppard. You get along very well, am I right?"

"Yeah."

"Are you romantically involved?"

" _No_." Ronon feels his defenses shoot up in a way he's not prepared for, and wants to explain them away, but he doesn't know where to start. This is about two people he would never meet. Strangers. It shouldn't - it _didn't_ concern him.

"Ah, okay. Sorry if I offended you, I didn't mean to, okay?"

Ronon nods, shoveling some food into his mouth for lack of anything to say. Eventually, though, he has to take another bite, or speak, and in spite of himself, he chooses the latter, asking, "are we…in your universe?"

"Yeah." Rod seems relieved, wearing an excited expression that belongs to the prospect of a fully charged ZPM, not gossip. It's surreal.

"Almost a year, and none of the rest of us can figure it out. At least in this universe, it would make sense. But. Let me see. From what I can tell, it would be like if you and Dr. Kavanaugh were to get together." He grins at the scowl on Ronon's face. "That's kind of where we're all at with it. Not that it's bad or anything. Just strange. Guess I was just hoping for some random insight."

"They're not us. We're not them. Does it matter?"

"No. Like I said. Curiosity." Rod shrugs, sitting back in his seat. "Oh, and as far as random insights go, never, ever let any of the scientists talk you into letting them use your gun to power the DHD. The energy level cannot be sustained without absolutely destroying the charging mechanism."

"Wasn't going to let it happen."

"Well, _my_ Ronon did, and Teyla almost died. Believe me, he hasn't spoken to Zelenka since. Really unfortunate…Oh, but you're going to love this-"

And Rod is off, babbling like McKay always does, only he's kind, and humble, and it would almost be funny if it weren't so damned _presumptive_.

He wants to ask Rod if he's ever blown up an entire solar system, but doesn't. Part of him doesn't want to hear that this McKay may actually be more infallible than his own.

And even if he isn't, the fact of the matter is that his _own_ McKay won't rest until the problem is solved. At this point, knowing that all _his_ people are exactly where they _should_ be is the only reason he's not punching Rod in the face.

He goes to find Sheppard, because he's not hungry any more, and he even if he can't make himself useful, he could at least be underfoot with the right people.

  
 **23\. Phantoms**

The emergency sirens had not gone off. There were no wraith, and it was nearing midnight. There was no logical reason for Ronon's father to be leaving the house with his sidearm. So Ronon followed, dodging into the shadows whenever he could.

Others joined his father. They grew into a silent mob as men emerged from darkened houses and fell into basic marching formation. This was something official, then.

No one spoke, not that Ronon could hear.

He had to stop short when they reached his uncle Lej's house, and he waited for him to join the throng, but no one came out.

The mob was not there to absorb him, Ronon realized, as he watched the door get kicked down. They were there to _retrieve_ him.

He saw Lej, along with another man, forced into the front yard, where they were gagged. Their arms were bound together in such a fashion that from where Ronon crouched, they seemed to be holding hands.

The mob began to move again, back towards the ring, surrounding the bound men as they walked. By the time Ronon had secured a vantage point, crouched next to a retaining wall, his father was activating the ring. Ronon ducked back into the shadows before it came to life, squinting against the sudden brightness.

He tried not to panic, because that was Lej, that was his kin, and something was wrong.

He forced himself to look again, wishing he could hear them, but too afraid to move any closer.

Thirty active guns were still trained on Lej and the other man as they began to struggle, and his then uncle was hit. He'd been stunned, taking the other man down with him. A few of the men broke formation and grabbed them roughly by their free arms, manhandling them towards the glowing pool and shoving them through.

After an interminable moment, the guns were lowered, the gate shut down, and the men began to disperse, silent as before.

Ronon ducked back around the wall, cutting through yards and alleys to make it home without being seen, because for the first time in his ten years, he didn't understand his own people.

The lamps were on in the sitting room, and through the window, he watched his mother crying furiously. If he tried getting back in while she was there, he'd probably be caught, but if he went up the escape ladder, as long as Jeena didn't wake up, he might still pull it off. But he should tell her what he saw, she was on the council and would be able to fix it, Lej could come back.

"Ronon. Go inside."

He stood, frozen in fear, before he managing to turn to face his father.

"Come inside, and I will explain. Believe me, your curfew violation is the last thing your mother will have on her mind tonight."

He meekly allowed his father to usher him inside, where he sat at the table, trying to listen to the hushed argument from the other room while remaining invisible.

Eventually, Jeena woke. He could see her coming down the stairs on the other side of the hall, sleepy-eyed and dragging her blanket with her, whining already. She was the disruption the argument had needed, apparently, because his mother swept into view to take her back to bed, offering to read her a story.

His father returned to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. After a brief hesitation, he pulled down another cup, and poured a second drink. He handed the wine to Ronon and sat next to him at the table.

"What did Lej do?" Ronon knew he was supposed to look his father in the eye when he spoke, but he was nervous.

"Your uncle refused his duty to Sateda. So he had to leave."

"Aunt Menera came to your mother at council last week, saying that she had left the house. She said that Uncle Lej refused to…well. He refused to father her children. Your mother has tried to reason with him, but he refuses. Lej," he explained, "has been living with Janan, more or less as husband and, well. Husband. They're sly. You follow?"

"Yes."

Ronon tried the wine. It tasted awful, and but it afforded him an opportunity to put the world on pause for a moment, to shudder and not have it mean anything.

"When you go back to school in the winter, you will learn of this. That we are here to increase our numbers and build a force strong enough to defeat the wraith."

"But our forces _are_ strong."

"But not great enough in number. You have been through, what, three cullings now? Those were just small bands of wraith. There are many more. And when they awaken in full numbers, those cullings will be as nothing by comparison."

"But that won't happen for another seventy years," Ronon said, to the floor, then glanced up. "Right?"

"In that time, you will have children, and your children will have children. You are just one, but you could easily have four, maybe twenty grandchildren if you're blessed. They will be the men who will protect Sateda, and the women who will run it. Do you understand?"

"By not having children, he is denying the future of…um…"

"He who denies Sateda protection, Sateda denies in return," he father smirked, somewhat bitterly, almost singing the words in a military cadence.

"He has betrayed Sateda, and he has betrayed us." Ronon nodded, finally feeling like he understood. "Where did you send him?"

"Your grandmother gave me the gate address only today, once the council's order came down. I do not truly know if we sent them on to peaceful land, or straight to their deaths. We don't know what becomes of them. If anyone ever did, it was long ago."

Ronon's father fell silent at that, leaving him to contemplate his half finished wine. It tasted sweet now, but it burned.

"What happens now?" Ronon eventually managed.

"They are effectively dead to us. We cannot speak of him, for to admit to having traitors amongst your own kin is disrespectful to those that remain, no matter how much you miss your uncle. There will be a service tomorrow. A funeral. And your mother is going to stay with Menera for a few days. You can go with her, if you like."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. You're allowed to make your own decisions, now, Ronon, as you've apparently already discovered by virtue of, let me guess, the bathroom window?" Ronon risked a glance at his father, but found him grinning. "Finish your wine, and don't tell your mother." He nodded. "I'm going to go try and see if I'm allowed to sleep in my own bed tonight. You should do likewise." His father stood, pausing to put his empty cup in the sink. At the threshold of the kitchen, he paused, and turned back to Ronon.

"You weren't supposed to see that, tonight, Ronon. You're not yet of age. But consider the knowledge an advantage. If you find yourself being distracted by a transgressor, even if it is after your mother has settled your marriage, and you're a father yourself, remember tonight, and remember your duty to Sateda."  
\---

He never thought about it much, not until it was too late and no one was left to ask, but he would never understand why anyone would choose the companionship of one over the complete loss of home, no matter how great their love.

He wondered if it was possible to forgive someone who'd cost you your world.

He doubted it.

So he tried not to stay, and avoided people, and tried not to cost anyone their world, and he ran through every gate alone.

  
 **24\. The Return I and II**

When he'd decided to accept Sheppard's offer, they made him learn all their rules. They had a rule about being sly- only they called it homosexuality, and rules about having sex- only they called it fraternization, and, perhaps logically enough, rules about talking about it, or not asking, and not telling.

"It's something we're grappling with. But," Sheppard had explained, "I don't really have any clout when it comes to making the laws. So let me put it this way. As far as I'm concerned, the only way I can protect my people is to not know about it. As long as I don't know about it, I don't have to enforce it, and people don't have to get sent away. And I know it's stupid and it sucks, but do you understand?"

He did. Sheppard wanted to keep his home and people safe. He didn't want to banish anyone, and he never had. No one went through the gate alone.

Then, eventually, the Ancients returned, and they were all forced out anyhow, and Ronon was soon-to-be- homeless. The Athosians were kind, and Teyla wanted him to stay. In the face of so much loss, Ronon couldn't lose the last family he had, so he stepped through the gate with her, and was pretty sure it was better than going through alone.    
\---

Ronon _missed_ Sheppard, and the knowledge that he was probably alive was not as much comfort as it should have been. Because Sheppard was doing something right now. Talking with someone. Out on another expedition. Maybe he was under fire without backup, or in his room, playing guitar. Maybe he was hurt, maybe he was safe, but Ronon ached all the same, because he wasn't there with him, and he knew that he should have been.

Besides, if he wasn't fighting wraith, he could have done it just as well on Earth. It was the only reason he'd stayed, but he was finding it being gently pushed aside for later, until after the fields were cleared and the next crop planted. Then the Athosians _might_ have time to make some sort of stand.

Heaving another sack of grain into the shed, he turned away from Teyla, wanting to avoid the fight that they'd been stepping around for hours. Her people could not fight, and even as much as she _wanted_ to, he _needed_ to. He would do better to move on, go out alone again. He knew this, but did not want to discuss it. Not yet. Because Teyla wouldn't be able to talk him out of it, and that meant he would have to decide to leave, and he couldn't do that.

Radim came to them, offering a chance to fight again, to ally themselves with the only useful force that would have them, but he was _Genii_. They were no saviors; they held no hope. Not like Atlantis. Not like Sheppard.

Ronon was too close to not caring anymore.

But then Sheppard returned, eyes glinting, and shoulders set straight, because something was wrong. And Ronon followed him into the fray, without question or reservation, because this was Sheppard and Atlantis and it was his people and it was his home.

  
 **25\. Echoes**

Ronon Dex could sulk with the best of them. Hell, he was dangerously close to pouting. And it shouldn't have filled John with the warm fuzzies, but it did. He concentrated on looking like he was concentrating on flying the jumper.

"He was like this all night, you know. Very _agitated_. Had me scared," Zelenka was probably joking, but Sheppard could never tell. Besides, at the moment, Ronon _did_ look a little scary. Or at least like he was _trying_ to look a little scary, because he probably wasn't trying to look so damned adorable.

"He'll be alright. Get him home, nice warm bath, a hot meal…"   _Wow, that sounded a little…yeah. Ease up._

Distraction, then. He made the suggestion to have Teyla look after Ronon's mental health, and escaped to his own rooms, to meet himself for the stern talking-to he'd been expecting for ages.

It was impossible to talk yourself out of someone without fixating on them even more, so the talk wasn't going so well.

The hundred different reasons it was unwise? They were nothing new.

That Ronon wasn't interested? At this point, it didn't even register. Not really.

That Ronon was at times unsettling, annoying, and frustrating? Not unsettling or annoying _enough_ , apparently. Though the frustration might kill him.

Nothing was particularly helpful when it came down to the fact that Ronon Dex was beautiful, even when he was tired and cranky and hating the world. Or the fact that John knew that while he was lying on his bed, scowling at the ceiling, Ronon was in his own quarters, taking a bath. Possibly with bubbles.  
\---

Sheppard was wrong.

Ronon was taking a shower, because apparently, according to Sheppard anyway, he smelled bad. He wanted to see if Sheppard wanted to hit the mess and get some dinner, but Sheppard and Zelenka had both scrambled out of the jumper so fast that he took the hint, and decided that he'd better change into some clean clothes, too.

Sheppard wasn't answering his radio, but Teyla was already at their usual table, with Rodney, who was, as usual, staring at his tablet.

"So I hear you're in need of meditation lessons," McKay was smirking.

"So?" _Shit. If Rodney knows about it already, then Teyla does, and there is no way out of it._ He sat down anyway.

"Wouldn't think it would be so hard to just sit there and do nothing, is all."

"You would know," he grinned, tearing the meat off the bone with his teeth as McKay sneered back at him.

Teyla interrupted before it got out of control "You are most welcome to join us, Rodney."

"Uh-huh," Rodney said, and he really wasn't listening that time, because he didn't look up a minute later screeching about whatever it was he thought he might have agreed to and his hundred excuses for reneging.

Ronon wished he would, because he couldn't come up with any on his own.  
\---

He sat in the gym, staring at the back of Teyla's head to see if she'd sense his blatant disregard for this entire exercise. When that got boring, his eyes wandered while he considered plastering the walls with pictures of clowns, and throwing Sheppard in here until he apologized for setting it up. Of course, Sheppard wasn't that easily cowed, so he'd have to wrestle it out of him, but that would be no hardship…

He started, realizing that he didn't have Sheppard pinned to the mat when he opened his eyes and saw Teyla trying to glare at him.

"I think we are done for the night. You should get some sleep."

"Right."

Of course, by the time he made it back to his quarters, he was wide-awake.

It wasn't often that he went in there, and it was rarer that he made it in early enough that Dr. Shermer, one of the linguists, was still "playing librarian," which meant sitting at a table fielding ridiculous questions from everyone in the city, but it wasn't rare enough that Dr. Shermer should have been staring at him like that.

"Okay, just to be sure I heard you right. You want pictures of clowns."

"I want a _lot_ of pictures of clowns."

  
 **26\. Irresponsible**

"Poisoned tape. Lucius really suggested that?" Ronon deflected a blow and spun back around to face Sheppard, who was already striking again.

"Yeah. Came up with it all on his own, too. Least, as far as I know, there was nothing about it in any of our mission reports."

Ronon managed to hook his right leg, but Sheppard almost extricated himself in time. Almost being the operative word, they both eventually tumbled to the mat in an unruly heap. Ronon rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So you've got something to be thankful for, at least." Sheppard got to his feet first, and offered Ronon a hand up.

"Why do you say that?" Ronon let go, and backed away.

"Because I would hate to think of you inadvertently poisoning yourself while you were hanging pictures of clowns all over my room. And the mess. And the gate. So I'm glad you're all right, buddy." Apparently finished with his monologue, Sheppard finally raised his fists.

"Well don't worry. We're even now," and Ronon swung, hard.

John sidestepped, letting the blow slide over his bicep and getting in a solid hit to Ronon's chest. " _Even_? For what?"

"For making me go to meditation class with Teyla."

"I didn't _make_ you do anything, I merely made the suggest-" Sheppard took an elbow to the stomach, and wondered what Ronon would do if he pulled his hair.

"Yeah. To me. And Teyla, and McKay." Ronon seemed to be letting him catch his breath, stepping back to grab some water and tossing the bottle to Sheppard.

"To you, sure, but I didn't get a chance to mention it to anyone else."

"So you didn't…"

"No."

"Then it was."

"Zelenka."

"Oh." Ronon frowned. "Whoops."

"Whatever. It was funny." Sheppard grabbed his towel and nodded towards the door. "So wait. You don't get mad, you redecorate? Revenge is sweet, and so are the new curtains?"

"Shut up." They were in the hallway now, and Ronon was back to doing his "all Earthers are idiots" face.

"No, I just want to be clear. Revenge is a dish best served cold, on seasonally festive place settings?"

"Don't know about that, but I know dinner will be, if you're any slower. Let's go."

  
 **27\. Tao of Rodney**

Ronon wasn't Dex. Dex was Air Force, and died in Afghanistan. Ronon is Ronon, and if Sheppard's ever asked about it, he would squint his eyes, purse his lips, and say that he'd never given it any thought.

Sheppard doesn't think about Afghanistan much. Maybe he's gotten the hang of that entire compartmentalization thing, or maybe his perspective's been blown to smithereens, or maybe a few years and a few light-years really do make a difference. But now and again, memories rise up, unbidden and blindsiding, to leave him breathless.

He doesn't think it's PTSD, but he's not going to ask, because on Sateda, Ronon had once said, it had been called the Fear. Soldiers would break rank and throw down their weapons, ripping their shirts open to the wraith. If PTSD sounded like a medical condition, the Fear sounded like a death warrant. They couldn't afford that, so he didn't have it.

He's still cagey, though, around Heightmeyer, and thinks she knows it and is just letting him get away with it. Because it would be even worse for morale to have the ranking military officer sent back to Earth because he lost his nerve.

And he wonders if he's being greedy, because he was never supposed to be the military head of an alien outpost, and if that's the case, then they were never supposed to last as long as they did, and maybe they're on borrowed time.

And he's watching the deadline approach, now, because McKay's saying that he doesn't have much time left, and he's leaving, EEG monitor in hand, towards one of two fates: death or ascension. Neither of which bode well for anyone, because if McKay goes…

If McKay goes, Sheppard is pretty sure Heightmeyer won't have trouble diagnosing him with the Fear, even as Atlantis crumbles into a broken scrap heap around them.  
\---

When the door chimes again, he almost doesn't answer, but he knows his hesitation won't stop the clocks from ticking.

It's only Ronon, and he's looking more confused than stoic, and John wonders if it's some sort of reprieve, so he invites him in.

Ronon wanders the room, not quite pacing, and speaks.

"McKay got rid of my scars. The one on my back and…" he trails off. "They're all gone."

John has no idea what to say to that, so he raises his eyebrow and asks one of his least favorite questions instead.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"It's weird, is all." Ronon shrugs, looking puzzled, before glancing at Sheppard on his way to stare at the poster behind him. "What about you? You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Thank _god_."  Then Ronon's grinning again, like he's been doing, lately.  "Let's go to dinner."

And Sheppard laughs, because whatever this is, they can still handle it, and he's glad for the reminder.   

They still have time.

  
 **28\. The Game**

John's been noticing Ronon lately, partially because it's his job to and partially because…well. John's got a bit of a crush, has for a few planets now. He's not planning on doing anything with it. He's just harboring it quietly, and noticing things.

Like how competent, how strong, and how funny Ronon can be, once he's comfortable enough to start making jokes. He's like the kid at the back of the classroom. Quiet, sloppy, with rumors circulating about a lousy home life, sitting in the back row and mostly out of sight, but occasionally butting in with one liners that have the rest of the class roaring too loud for the teacher to pinpoint the original disturbance.

And that makes John wary, maybe because he was the guy sitting up towards the front who usually got blamed for it, without getting more than a glance at the kid in the back row.

But now he's got time to look, and so he does.  
\---

Sheppard missed Antarctica. It was colder there, but at least it was too cold to rain. He glanced out towards the ledge of the shallow cave, where Ronon paced, eyes on the bright yellow tarp over the DHD, where Teyla was helping McKay. He let himself imagine that the rain was letting up a bit, but knew better than to voice it.

Eventually, he got the fire started, and it was smokier than he'd like, but it was warm.

"Hey Ronon. Get over here, sit down, eat something, and try to warm up. I've got lookout." Ronon waved him back, shaking his head. "I've also got real rain gear, and you're soaked through, and already look sick. It's an order."

As pale as he was, and as blue as his lips almost were, Ronon shouldn't have been able to shoot such a scathing glare at Sheppard, but he managed, just fine. "McKay needs to fix the damned gate."

"And he will. So in the meantime, you rest for a bit."

Sheppard tossed him an MRE, and sat down at the edge of the cave, far out enough to keep line of sight, but far back enough to avoid most of the rain. He watched the river carry chunks of snow down from the, and tried to find the exact location where Ronon had fallen in, but he couldn't tell from up here.

Ronon had fought his way out some fifty yards downriver, and Sheppard couldn't tell if he'd been prepared to fight the wraith that was waiting for him. He'd watched through the scope, trying to get a clear shot at the wraith.

Ronon, having been knocked into the frigid water, fought the wraith like it was nothing more than an annoyance, something he was just doing to occupy time between coughs. He'd looked to be more concerned about moving towards high ground than the wraith standing in his way.

There really couldn't be that many people in the universe sharing that mindset.

Ronon had stopped shoving food into his pockets only recently, which had been a reassuring development, as it had always made passerby in the mess nervous, like he knew something they didn't. Which, John supposed, was probably true.

Sheppard glanced back into the shelter. Ronon sat close to the fire, drying off as best he could with what looked to be Sheppard's towel, and hadn't touched his food. It couldn't have been good, but Sheppard said nothing.

"I hate rain." Ronon growled, watching the smoke curl around the corner of the overhang. "You sure about the fire?"

If Ronon hadn't looked like he was about to drop dead, Sheppard honestly would have foregone it, since the bright yellow tarp over the DHD may as well have been a big neon sign that read _We're here! Come and get us!_

"Yeah. If there were more darts, they would have been here by now."

"We should put it out."

"It's fine. We're fine. And if the wraith are gonna show up, you aim will be better if you're not shivering. The fire is nothing."

"No it isn't." He shrugged, then swallowed, apparently deciding that a train of thought needed derailing. "Okay. Then we should tell McKay and Teyla about the fire."

"No. Because then Rodney will decide that he really needs to warm up."

"What if he does need it?"

"You think he's become you all of a sudden?"

"Huh?"

"He gets a splinter in his thumb and it's the end of the world. You get an arrow through your leg and it's a Tuesday. Trust me, if McKay thinks he needs a break, we'll know about it. In the meantime, it's best that he keeps working, so we can get the hell out of here and back home as soon as possible. He'll be fine." He looked back down towards the tarp. "Besides, his lordship had it coming," this last he said to himself.

"You're still mad about Geldar?" Because there's no such thing as talking to yourself and not having Ronon pick up on it.

"No, I'm not. We both screwed that up, big time. Which isn't to say that if he hadn't decided to cheat-"

The radio came to life, and he glanced down to the tarp, seeing Teyla backing out first, then Rodney, who was already talking as they made their way back towards the rocks.

"Looks like I've got it, it just needs to charge up, so it will be an hour or so. We're coming back and _you've got a fire going_? We're out here, risking _life_ and _limb_ , _freezing_ to _death_ , while you're-."

Sheppard shut his radio off. "They'll be up in a minute."

  
 **29\. The Ark**

It had been close. Damned close. There were a hundred different ways they could have died today, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if his crash landing might have been one Hail Mary too many.

But he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about Ronon again. Usually, he was much better at Leaving It Alone. But Ronon's mask had slipped. It had come and gone quickly, but John had seen it, it revealed more about Ronon's character than every conversation they'd manage to wrangle over the past few months. And now he felt like he knew some things.

While Sheppard could relate to the notion of going out fighting, Ronon considered himself a failure, unless he died in battle. And Ronon knew he would die, knew it at his most basic level, and didn't fear it. John wondered if he was waiting for it, even inviting it. If eventually he'd get tired of maintaining the balance.

Which basically made him the worst type of person to be giving orders to, and the wrong type of person to be caring about.

Ronon would go as far as Sheppard needed him to go, if not further, and Sheppard had already lost men, more than he should have led in the first place.

 _Today was not the death Ronon deserves. He deserves one that means something._

John felt sick, for thinking about Ronon's death in such terms, because it sounded like planning, and because he was supposed to be the one making sure that it didn't happen.

And at the time, instead of formulating a brilliant plan, he'd been thinking about the way Ronon's stupid shirt had pulled to the side as he tried to keep his arm stabilized, exposing just a bit more skin than usual. About the intensity in his eyes.

About how much he hated Ronon's life, that he was forced into a near panic, not at the thought of a bloody death, but at the thought of an idle one. About the fact that he'd promised to fight him to the death, if it came to that.

About the things he'd wanted to do to make Ronon feel better as they barreled down towards the planet, alone in a locked room.

He should have been trying to get them out of there.

This had to stop, or he'd get his team killed.

Thankfully, Ronon avoided him like the plague for the rest of the week.  
\---

He hadn't been allowed back into the gym because of his shoulder, let alone off world, so he hung out in the infirmary. Beckett had wanted, for some time, to talk about Satedan medicine. It proved to be less uncomfortable than Ronon expected. Beckett accepted that he knew so much about medicine without needing to hear how he knew about it. He didn't ask about evenings spent helping Melena study for her tests at the kitchen table, while their mothers visited in the parlor, discussing the wedding, the plans for the house that was being built for them.

Carson took Ronon at face value, and Ronon knew he should have known that from the first time they met. He didn't push, because he didn't have to. He was easy to talk to, because he would do most of the talking, and he talked about nice things. Teyla spoke of peace. McKay spoke of crises. Sheppard spoke of living. Beckett spoke of the things that made living worthwhile. Usually. But spending two days talking about medicines and diseases and life and death did still force Ronon to regain a little perspective.

So he'd panicked when locked away in a depressurized shuttle as it fell, with nothing to be done about it. It wasn't like he'd begged Sheppard to hold his hand, or started crying at the fucking injustice of it all. He'd just blurted out that he didn't like waiting to die, and admitted to being afraid of small spaces. And it was probably the sort of thing Sheppard should have been aware of in the first place.

And even if Sheppard _did_ think he was a coward, he'd never bring it up. So he was probably the only one thinking about this. It was all on him, and by Wednesday, Ronon was tired of avoiding Sheppard.

Thursday, Ronon met Sheppard for their morning run, and pretended that nothing had happened. And that the twinge that he felt when Sheppard let him was only his lungs, still recovering from the temporary lack of air. It certainly wasn't anything more.

  
 **30\. Sunday**

It was strange, having an entire day off, but it was better than the beer. Though he didn't know why they crushed the cans on their foreheads. It could have been another one of those traditional Earth guy things, but as usual, John was sparse on cultural details. It felt like it might have been revenge for the stick fighting game. He'd ask McKay about it later, because he suspected McKay would find it as stupid as he himself did. Tradition or not, hitting yourself in the face kind of hurt, though he wasn't going to admit it.

He was going to relent and tell Sheppard that yes; the stick fighting really had been a traditional Satedan sport. Ever since Tyre and he had invented it one brilliantly drunken night. But he didn't get to work it into the conversation before Sheppard was chattering aimlessly, and then _asking_ him things, and it felt like they were _talking_ and it was really fucking _uncomfortable_.

"You mean like a woman?"

"Or a man," John allowed, looking back at his magazine like he didn't care about the answer. And maybe he didn't. _And is he supposed to ask?_

"No." Ronon bit out the first response that came to mind, hitting the truth almost accidentally, and knew it sounded too harsh. He backed up. "I'm not ready yet." _To have any idea how to answer that question. Because the second I admit to anything, I have to commit to it, and I don't know how to do that._

"Not ready yet?" Ronon felt those eyes on him, but didn't wilt under the scrutiny, and John continued. "Did you leave somebody behind on Sateda?" Ronon met Sheppard's gaze. "Wife?"

Ronon hesitated, briefly wondering when it had become a secret, and realized that maybe it shouldn't have been. "Close enough."

"Sorry." It didn't feel like Sheppard's usual apologies for the wraith, and, truth be told, it was nice to hear.

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"When are you getting married?" He grinned as he asked, because he'd known for some time that Sheppard was beginning to know how to read him, that maybe everyone was, so he had to do something deliberate.

"Already done that. Not very good at it. Besides, there really isn't anyone here that…you know." Sheppard smiled as he said it, like it wasn't a bad thing. Ronon kept his own grin on as he finally found a foothold in the conversation.

"See, I always thought that you and Teyla would…you know."

"Really." Sheppard looked skeptical, and Ronon wasn't sure why it hit him so hard.

"Yeah, why not?"

Sheppard would have answered, but there was a noise, the floor shook, alarms were ringing out, and they were running off towards a _really_ shitty day.  
\---

Ronon had never been to Earth, much less Scotland, and had no idea what a home here was supposed to feel like, but he was pretty sure that a house so full of people wasn't supposed to feel so empty.

"It's peaceful here." He said, instead, looking out over too much wet grass and a dingy township in the valley below. "Strange to think that…" He stopped. _Wraith_ were definitely on the list of things you Do Not Talk About On Earth.

"That we're all alone out here?" Sheppard grinned ruefully, understanding anyway.

"Yeah. Strange. Been to a lot of places, but. For all I've heard about it, _Scotland_ isn't what I thought it would be, you know?"

"I guess. Serves us right for using movies as a teaching device. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"I like movie night. Mostly." Ronon shrugged.

"No. That I haven't gotten you out here sooner. It seems really shitty to do it like this."

"How do you mean? This is important. It's worth coming for."

"Yeah, but you're going to have this entire idea of _Scotland_ being this sad place. That's no frame of reference for anything. You didn't even get to go on a ferris wheel."

Ronon shrugged. "Maybe some other time?"

"Yeah."

"Good. It's nice here. I hope it stays that way."

Sheppard grinned humorlessly. "Well, they've got better people than me working on it, so it should be okay."

"No."

Ronon hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, and he really wished he hadn't.

"What?"

"Better than you. McKay says they sent out the best people in the world. He says it all the time, and calls everyone else really horrible things. If he respects you, which he does, then you're the best that two universes could hope for."

"Wow. I don't even know what to say to that. Thanks? And I think you're wrong, but seriously. Wow." John looked depressed and shocked now, and Ronon looked away. He'd been trying to cheer him up, but it wasn't happening. Maybe it was the setting. All the strained efforts to laugh and smile and play along were being expended inside at Carson's wake.  
\---

They'd planned to go check out the pubs that night, but John was too depressed to play tour guide. Ronon, who had been excited by the airport, claustrophobic on the plane, edgy during the funeral, and depressed during the wake, was now too exhausted to be curious.

He stopped by John's room to pick up his toothbrush; since he didn't own any non-suspicious looking luggage, he'd stowed it with John's gear. They wound up getting drunk on scotch, and watching TV, conversation fading in and out and in towards an argument.

"Your people are cruel."

"What do you mean?"

"You just said that there were too many people on your planet. How can that be possible?"

"It's possible if we can't feed them all."

"So you should say that you don't have enough food. Not that you have too many people. Don't blame them for existing."

"I don't."

"Sounds like you do."

"Getting everyone fed is the problem. The people aren't, okay? Jeez. Just because the Wraith kept the populations down in Pegasus doesn't mean it's the Milky Way's fault."

"They weren't k _eeping the population down_. They were _killing everyone_."

"Same thing."

"No, Sheppard. It really isn't."

Ronon got up from where he was sitting on the floor, back against John's bed, and went out into the hall, his footsteps fading away, leaving John to wonder what they'd been fighting about. He didn't follow.

He took a shower, and debated hunting him down, but decided that at worst, Ronon would have to get bailed out of jail in the morning. Even if John felt too fucking alone to know where to start, Ronon wasn't beholden to stay.

Sheppard fell asleep in front of the television, but woke when the door creaked open to let Ronon stagger into the room, unsteady on his feet. The television's blue light was reminding John of home, but not quite. Not when it shone on Ronon clad in Earth clothes, trying to work the remote control, the only non-alien thing in a suddenly very alien room.

Ronon hit the wrong button, and Sheppard could no longer pretend to be asleep. He could, however, turn the television off before someone complained to the manager.

In doing so, he got his first good look at Ronon. He was a little damp from the apparently omnipresent drizzle, and his eyes were a little red, and he was more than a little drunk. John realized he was staring, right when Ronon did.

"Sorry, I can leave," Ronon tensed, already swaying back into towards the door.

"Go where? Where've you been?" John almost managed to sound unconcerned, or at least willing to let Ronon take the lead with wherever this was going.

"Out walking." The ice hadn't broken yet. Ronon was apparently done looking at him for a while. "I'm sorry." He said, out of nowhere, a louder than John would've expected. "For waking you up. This is stupid. I just." _Didn't want to be alone any more tonight._

"Don't worry about it. Stay as long as you like. Can even crash here tonight if you want."

Ronon was biting his lip, and looking at the phone instructions, pretending to read them. "You mind?"

"'Course not. Oh, and your toothbrush is in with mine. Don't remember if you grabbed it earlier." It was a ridiculous thing to be talking about, but John really didn't want to be talking about anything worthwhile. Especially the fact that he'd just invited Ronon to share his bed, and that Ronon might have accepted.

He sat back down and closed his eyes, listening to Ronon in the bathroom, running the sink and… brushing his teeth, apparently. It occurred to him that he'd seen Ronon do a lot of things, but brushing his teeth wasn't one of them. He opened his eyes, but the door was closed.

It took John a moment to realize that the choking he was hearing was suppressed sobbing, and another for his limbs to catch up to his brain. He got out of bed and was at the door, hand over the knob, before his mind caught up to his limbs.

 _He probably doesn't want me in there. Probably doesn't want to be seen_.

He knocked, anyway. "You alright?"

"No." A pause, then, "Sorry."

John was trying to decide what to do when the door opened, and he was caught, hand still hovering where the doorknob should have been. Ronon, though, looked too miserable and embarrassed to notice, so he lowered it slowly, but didn't move away.

"You want to talk about it?"

Ronon shrugged, still staring into the room. "What is there to say? Carson's in the ground. It's fucked up."

Sheppard would have asked him about Satedan funerals, but he knew a little already, that they burned their dead, and that this wasn't the time to delve into specifics, and that that wasn't the main problem anyway

"Yeah. I know." He glanced down at Ronon's feet, and it was strange, standing there, looking at him standing in a tee shirt and flannel shorts, arms wrapped around his midsection like he was just some normal guy, instead of someone who'd lost an entire planet and wasn't even in the right galaxy anymore.

He backed up a little, glancing up at Ronon's face, and wasn't surprised to see so much beauty there, but it hurt to see woven into so much loss. It fucking _wrenched_.

"I miss him," he admitted, out of nowhere, for no particular reason, other than he had nothing else to reach out with.

Ronon nodded, face twisting like it might do something he didn't want it to, and John took pity on him, backing out of his space.

"I'm gonna," he nodded back towards the bed. "You should do the same."

"Yeah." Palms scrabbled over Ronon's face, plastering his walls up enough to hold until the lights went out. "You sure about this?"

"Yeah. Company's not the worst idea in the world right now." And he wasn't sure that he meant it until he said it, but he really didn't want to be alone tonight, either. He lay down on the bed, leaving plenty of room on the other side. "Get the light on your way, would ya?" It wasn't the greatest thing he could come up with, but maybe if he tried treating this as if nothing fucking weird was going on, maybe Ronon would too. He flipped the blankets back down as he crawled back in. It was about as blatant an invitation as he could muster without screwing things up horribly.

The light went off, and Ronon sat down on the bed slowly, and pulled the covers up, as he lay down, facing away from John.

"Thanks," he said, and John hummed in response.

After a few minutes of the most awkward silence he'd ever lived through, he opened his eyes again to look at the tension radiating from Ronon's back. There was no way either of them were getting to sleep if he couldn't relax.

He was trying not to cry, again.

John's hand crept out, again, without his knowledge or consent, and touched Ronon's shoulder.

Ronon froze, but John didn't move his hand. _It wasn't like this wasn't going to be massively awkward already, after all._

Ronon's voice was gravel.  "Sorry- I"

"S'alright. C'mere." John reached out and put his hand on Ronon's arm, pulling back just slightly. It was an invitation that Ronon could ignore if he needed to.  
\---

He felt John's hand on him, solid and warm and _there_ , and Ronon knew he'd have to move, but when it happened, he found himself easing back, against Sheppard, instead of away. A few moments of adjustment, and he felt one of John's arms against his back, fingers smoothing his shoulder, and the other wrapped too carefully around his chest. John's hand was soon captured in both of his own, before either of them could consent. He wondered if John was amused by this pathetic display. Why Sheppard wasn't saying anything. Why the fuck he wanted to start crying all over again.

He tightened his grip, briefly, and allowed Sheppard to settle behind him, feeling his breath in his hair, evening out as he began to doze off. Only then did he begin to relax a bit, and though his twitching muscles caused Sheppard to pull him closer, the warmth and the weight were too secure to resist, and eventually, he slept.  
\---

In the morning, he woke first, slowly enough that he didn't startle, but he held his breath upon realizing where he was, and why he was there. A picture of a man wearing plaid stared down at him from the wall, eyes cold and disappointed, and he couldn't blame the man. This was mortifying.

 _Get out. Get away from here. This can't happen. You shouldn't be here. Shouldn't have needed this. Shouldn't want to stay. They'll know, and they'll send you away. Sheppard too._

He extricated himself carefully, not looking back to make sure he hadn't stirred, for fear that he'd have to face John's eyes again.

He held it together until he made it to his own bathroom, where the chill of the tile on his skin brought him right back to where he'd spent the night, shaking apart in Sheppard's bed, some weak, pathetic thing.

He didn't realize that he was avoiding looking in the mirror, or down at himself, as he waited for the water to warm. It wasn't safe to do so until a haze of steam filled the room, blurring his edges so that if he squinted, he might be able to see someone he was supposed to be. Someone without shame, without fear. A Satedan fighter, not a coward, and not a traitor.

The illusion was short lived, however. He caught the coward in the mirror as he reached for the towel, and just managed to make it to the toilet before the vomiting started. The pain of it eventually brought him back to himself, and he rose, resolved.

He got into the shower, to clean away the mess, and to warm his blood from cowardly temperatures towards something resembling human. Then he would get dressed, shield himself in cloth, and set out to fight through another morning, ignoring how much he wanted to crawl back into that bed and into those arms.

  
 **31\. Submersion**

Ronon lay on his stomach, head on the pillow, arms crossed beneath his chest. Dreadlocks obscured his face, but not his vision. He watched Sheppard, asleep now, and wondered if Teyla was still awake. He couldn't tell, not from where he lay.

He wanted to have this, whatever it was, all to himself. This small secret thing, to watch over another's sleep.

Sheppard had never again brought up the night of Carson's funeral, or the morning after, where he'd woken alone, after Ronon had run away until he could think. And for that, he was grateful.

Nothing of those few days would have stood strong in the light of conversation. Not the hurt, not the shame, not the need. None of it stood in his own head, not yet. But he watched, Sheppard, sprawled on his back, one foot touching the floor, grounded, and thought that he might be figuring it out.

Sheppard slept, baring his heart to the universe, while Ronon knew better. He knew that to survive on one's own, one must protect yourself, even in sleep.

When he was a child, he'd heard the same stories all the young children heard. That the wraith could come in the night and drain you, that by the time you felt their hand on your chest, it was too late.

Teyla, he knew, had heard the same stories. He didn't have to look to know that she slept, arms crossed over her chest, one wrist turned out to give her a better chance of grasping at an attacker, at least when she was off world. This in spite of her ability to sense the wraith from miles away. She'd heard the same stories he had.

He'd long since learned that the arms of a child were no defense against the wraith, but he'd believed in it when he'd needed to. And it had served him well, because not only did it protect against the wraith of the children's stories, it kept him warm for almost seven years, when the hands of the wraith were no longer a fiction.

McKay, when Teyla explained it to him, had mocked the habit, but had taken it on in the field immediately thereafter. Sheppard had seen it for the weak defense it was, but had nodded along anyway. Sleep, for Sheppard, was sleep. It was not a tactic, unless there was an advantage to sprawling wide, inviting the universe to select its target.

And if it meant anything at all, and it probably didn't, it meant Sheppard would not bend to the universe. He could make the universe bend for him.

Because Ronon would watch over his sleep.

It didn't feel as wrong as he'd thought it should.

  
 **32\. Vengeance**

Ronon had been cranky, infuriatingly independent, and playing fast and loose with the concept of following orders again. And he'd argued. But he'd had a very good point. Michael did need a stern killing.

 _And he called you John, let's not forget about that._

But it wasn't until Ronon said, "I was thinking, blow it up, but your idea's better. Get moving," that even though John should have chafed at the idea of Ronon having the gall to tell him what to do, even in so minor a fashion, he was absurdly pleased, and by the time the crisis was over, and they'd made it back to Atlantis, he was actually in fairly high spirits.

Until Ronon brought it back home for all of them in the gateroom, when Elizabeth had asked what had happened to the Taranans.

"They're dead. All of 'em." And fuck, they'd lost an entire team of marines. It was then that Sheppard realized maybe he'd spent the past few hours focusing on the wrong thing. And that he was glad someone was keeping tabs on what was important.

He was on his way back to his quarters when he realized what it meant. He had an equal.

Sure, technically, he held command, but Ronon fought _with_ them, not _for_ them. And now everything he'd wanted, when he'd invited Ronon to stay, had gelled, somewhere, sometime, and Sheppard hadn't even noticed. Ronon had made his home, there, as an equal, and the thought should have startled him, but it didn't. It felt right.

Except for the fact that it undermined about half of his reasons for not pursuing him.

The shower was hot enough to melt away the bugs and Michael and the blood of his marines, giving him distance enough to get his head back in the game. But Ronon was standing in the middle of his room when he came out, looking nervous, but not like he didn't belong there. He hadn't looked like that in a while, now.

Ronon spoke first.

"Um. Sorry. About before. Going off like that."

"It's fine. You're not wrong."

Ronon nodded at that, smiling a little, and some of the weight seemed to have lifted, but not all of it, not yet. Ronon seemed to pause, freezing the room around him.

"Was there something else?" Something was about to change.

"I don't know." Ronon seemed to be fascinated by his jaw, or fixated on his ear, he couldn't quite tell. But suddenly, he knew.

"Me neither." And he stepped closer, grabbed Ronon's arms, and kissed him.

Simple as that. For now.

  
 **33\. First Strike**

Their first kiss was a calm thing. Soft, quick, hovering somewhere between chaste and platonic. A punctuation, maybe an acknowledgement. John's lips ghosted over Ronon's, touching at the side of his mouth, Ronon brushing across his lips in return.

And that had pretty much been the end of the calm. They stepped apart, rummaged around for something to say, until John was radioed away in relief.

Ronon wandered around in a dry panic for six days, and didn't sleep.  
\---

The beam crackled over the city shield, almost hypnotic. Ronon almost forgot to be restless, standing there with Teyla, the only two people in the city with nothing to do but watch.

John had come out, for a while, before running back inside, presumably to work on a plan c or d, whatever they were up to now. Or, more likely, to harangue McKay some more, and it rankled a little. Ronon could've helped with that, at least.

Teyla sat down to meditate, nodding an invitation that Ronon had no interest in accepting, bowing in understanding when he backed towards the door.

It was easier, during the day. There were things they had to do. Run. Train. Spar. English reading and writing classes with Teyla when he couldn't put them off any longer, and avoiding meditation afterwards. Eating. Going on missions, when they were lucky.

Sheppard was Sheppard, but sometimes he was John. Just enough to remind Ronon he was still there, but not enough to push. Just enough to be infuriating. Because it was comfortable, when John Sheppard, whoever he was being at the moment, was there. It was good, maybe even right.

Except that it was all horribly wrong, the second he wasn't there, and nights were the worst.

He thought of Melena, and how much he was failing her, and how he couldn't remember her face. He thought about his parents, wondering if the disappointment blazing in their eyes had always been there. He took sleeping pills every night, just to avoid the nightmares. All for something impossible.

But the mornings, coming out of whatever rough haze had held him sleeping, he woke up in the city of the _Ancestors_ , of all places, and would meet a drowsy John. He would be there when John actually woke up, squinting against the sunlight as they ran, and it was all starting to look just a little bit inevitable.  
\---

Ronon couldn't find anywhere in the city where he wasn't just in the way, so he sat on the edge of his bed, sharpening his knives and trying not to think.

The door chimed, then opened, and then John was slipping inside, and the knowledge that they were both _there_ , _alone_ together, was suddenly heavy in the room.

"Didn't think you'd be in here," John spoke first, looking across the distance at Ronon, watching him put another knife away.

"Yeah."

"There's nothing I can do for a while." Ronon grimaced in sympathy before really looking at John's face, seeing the question there. But he needed a second to catch up, needed it to become an invitation.

A moment later, it did, when John sighed. "So I _figured_ , since this is the only pause we're going to have in the crisis, that- oh shut _up_." Ronon found that he was already mirroring the grin that was starting to break out of John's smirk, and could have laughed in relief.

"Come here," he said, the knowledge that John would accept the invitation making him brave, and his heart might have stopped at the sight of John stepping forward. John stopped just short of too close.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Do I usually want to talk about anything?"

"No," John finally laughed a little, now that he knew it was allowed. "Good."

He finally bridged the gap, half kneeling on the bed, leaning in to tip Ronon's face closer.  
\---

Their second kiss managed to restore the status quo, and blow it out of the water, all at once.

This time, it was comfortable. It felt right, to have John's hand on his throat, brushing across to the tattoo there, a soft pressure against his pulse. He breathed John's breath before their parted lips even made contact, sliding across each other before John was moving _in_  and _there_ , and Ronon's hand- the one that wasn't holding himself up, was pressing against John's side and then pulling him closer.

They paused, breathing each other's air for a moment, each giving the other a last chance to back out, neither taking it. Ronon's chest stuttered, and he might have made a sound, but it might have been John. He wasn't sure, because now it was his turn to decide, to lean in first.

John sighed against him before their lips met again, and then John crashed against him, knocking him back against the bed and stealing Ronon's breath. Leaning close, he felt John's hand sliding from his throat down to the center of his chest, pushing gently, steadying himself as he swept down again, swirling into his mouth, tasting like coffee.

Ronon wondered what his own mouth tasted like, but knew he couldn't ask the question with a straight face, and didn't want to break the moment. He opened his eyes as John pulled back, his hand coming up to his face, brushing aside a stray dread that he hadn't been aware of until he felt it scratch across his skin.

"You doin' okay?" John whispered, smiling nervously, a few kisses too late to be looking so shy and hopeful. Ronon's neck was sore and his jaw was tired, and John's hand over his heart was getting heavy. His fingers were cramping, and he released the cotton of John's shirt from the grip he hadn't known he'd been holding. His stomach twitched, the tension he'd carried there finally easing, and he hadn't been so okay in _years_.  
\---

Submerging the city had been almost too much, but now they were going to make it _fly_. This was well past what he'd been ready for this morning, but when he passed Sheppard rushing back the other way, towards the chair, and saw John wetting his chapped lips, and it was okay. There were a lot of things he hadn't been ready for this morning, but so far, they had mostly been amazing.  
\---

Maybe if he hadn't been so eager to accept new experiences, or maybe if they'd been paying better attention, he wouldn't be on the floor of the control room with something stuck out of his shoulder, trying to gather the strength to go to Weir, where she lay, prone on the floor.

A doctor came by- one of the newer ones. He didn't recognize her, just pointed to Weir . The doctor looked too scared, and Ronon tried not to wish Beckett, with all his confident competence, was the one rushing across the room.

A moment later, and Sheppard was there, probably ignoring a dozen other problems he should have been solving to stop and call him a medic, and he could already tell it was as close together as they were ever likely to be again. He wondered if John knew it, too, as he left.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**34\. Adrift**

He watched them wheel Weir into the operating room, wanting to hurry Doctor Ryerson along so he could get back to whoever he was supposed to be dealing with. But then Ryerson shot him full of something that made the edges of his vision blurry. Sheppard was there, at some point, and didn't order him out of bed, even though he was good to go.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep.

As he again came up out of the haze, he became aware that the doctors were waiting for Weir, but not waiting with her. The doctors checked on her, but none would _stay_ , and none seemed to think they could do much. He _himself_ couldn't do much, but Weir shouldn't have been alone, and his drip stand wasn't bolted down, and this one thing, he knew, he could manage.

He wasn't ready for what he saw; she didn't look right. Her face was swollen, a dangerous combination of blues and purples. Though her eyes were closed, too much pain still shone through, even as she slept. They'd had to cut open her skull to save her, and even when Ryerson had told him about the procedure, it had sounded like an attempt at a Hail Mary that didn't promise much.

He checked, to be sure that they were still alone, before he dared speak. He wasn't good at talking. He never knew what to say, and usually chose not to speak even when he did. But this wasn't about him, now.

Weir was too good of a person to be alone in this now, even if she wasn't aware of it. So he spoke, and he thanked her, and he was going to start crying at the fucking injustice and misery of it all, but he must have bumped something, dislodged one of the hundred wires and tubes, because an alarm was going off, doctors were coming in, and Weir was probably dying now, and he had to leave.

He went back to his bed, and tried to look out the window, wanting nothing more than to be outside, alone, where he didn't have to care about anyone, not particularly caring that outside the window was in vacuum.

Rodney had done everything he could and everything no one else could, apparently, but Weir was alive. Apparently, though, it had been wrong.  Ronon understood that as soon as Sheppard started shouting.

It was hard to concede the point, though, when Weir woke up and spoke to them.

But it hurt, because if Sheppard was already certain that this would end badly, it probably would. She was here now, but they would lose her again soon.

  
 **35\. Lifeline**

Sheppard hated Rodney for what he'd done. Even Ronon could see this, not that Sheppard was taking pains to hide it.

It reminded him of when his parents fought; he was torn between backing Sheppard up, and standing up for McKay. Because yes, they were in trouble, and no, this wasn't what anyone wanted, but the man couldn't help himself. McKay, as much as he'd deny it, could not stop trying to fix things. Even things that shouldn't be fixed, and broke their hearts.

Ronon wanted to wait in the jumper, but Rodney had been assigned the duty, and it stung, only partially because Sheppard meant it as a punishment for McKay. Now that she was awake, he wanted to tell Weir that he was glad she was still here. For however long she was. Because she was Weir, not just some machine. And maybe he could say goodbye, for once. He never got to say goodbye to anyone when it still mattered. But to question Sheppard's tactics because he wanted something felt like taking advantage of John.  
\---

They lost everything, or at least it felt that way. Sheppard, it seemed, forgave Ronon for making him leave Weir behind on the replicator's world about as much as he forgave McKay for saving her in the first place.

He wanted to tell John to be careful. But Sheppard was Sheppard, and couldn't hear this now. But he would have to, soon. They didn't have enough family left that they could be so careless with each other. And anyway, John didn't have the time to look at him. He stopped by his room that night, but Sheppard wasn't there.

He spotted Sheppard the next day, talking with Teyla and the blonde woman from the SGC, but didn't cross the room to interrupt. Instead, he helped load more debris out to be taken down to the repair lab for salvage. McKay was there, tired and too miserable to bitch at anyone, which apparently scared the scientists more than anything. He was alone.

On Ronon's second trip down, he brought him some coffee from the mess.

" _You're_ still talking to me? You're supposed to be hating me right now."

"You went too far, maybe. But only because you cared enough to. And you still kept us from all being killed. That's worth a cup of coffee, at least." He shrugged, and moved towards the door.

"Thanks," he heard, over his shoulder, and was glad he'd turned away, because he wasn't sure he wanted to know what Rodney looked like, to be sounding so ridiculously _grateful_.

Ronon needed to feel the ground beneath him. Floating, submerged, or flying, Atlantis could be uncomfortable at times. Especially when everyone hated each other. Teyla, as soon as she was not needed in any official capacity, was not to be found outside of her quarters, and even she did not seem to want to speak to anyone.

When _Teyla_ didn't accept your company, you were nothing.  
\---

Sheppard just wanted to sleep.

This was worse than when Beckett died. Because at least then, they _knew_.

Instead, Sheppard spent all day and all night trying to figure out how they could retrieve her, or even if they should, with the threat she posed. He hated himself for thinking it, but it would have been easier if she'd died. This was like Ford all over again, with less chance for hope.

He was so tired, and annoyed, and apparently now had to run the entire expedition until they sent someone through to take over for Weir, instead of finding her.

 _And then devising a solution, but that couldn't be done without Rodney, and… we're not ready to go there. Not yet._

Instead, he was forced to deal with rumors and gossip about Weir's replacement, less than a day after she'd been dead, not missing.

 _We don't leave our people behind, except for when we do._

Repairs. Reports. He had to justify every single move, from "letting" McKay introduce replicators into Weir's system, which the IOA wanted McKay strung up for, to letting Teyla assume any level of command, which was just ridiculous. Weir had put her there. With good reason. Teyla had more experience leading people, and leading them _well_ , than anyone left alive in the city. He'd have her take over the entire mission permanently, if he could only get away with it.

Ronon was circling, here and there, but never approached. John didn't want to admit how relieved he was at that. He couldn't afford the distraction, not right now, and not when all eyes were on him. Everything was already tense; he couldn't afford any extra risks. Not today. He knew he'd have to search him out and explain himself, but for now, he couldn't. And anyway, from what he could see, when he actually managed to catch sight of Ronon, he wasn't sure it would be welcome.

 _We don't leave our people behind, except for when we do._

He hoped the rumors about Sam Carter taking over were true. He would have happily taken Woolsey, at this point. Even _Jackson_ , when he wasn't dead, was be better at smoothing over political rough spots. But in the meantime, it was all him, and he was all job, whether he liked it or not.

  
 **36\. Reunion**

Eventually, Sheppard caught up to Ronon at the end of the pier. He was standing with his arms crossed, and didn't turn when John drew near, though he did hold the water bottle out to him. Sheppard drank, surreptitiously looking back towards the city and scanning for onlookers.

They were alone.

His hand would have lingered as he handed the bottle back, but Ronon pulled away, breaking the contact.

"So." John took half a step away. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately. Things have been kind of insane." He tried to read Ronon's face, but he was giving nothing away.

Ronon squinted slightly against the water's glare and gave nothing away.

"I know." Ronon dropped down to sit on the edge of the pier, but didn't look at John, or invite him to sit.

"So…"

"So." _Shit_. Ronon was pissed.

"So. I was wondering what you're doing tonight?"

"Nothing."

"Want to hang out?"

"No." Something left Ronon's shoulders, then, and he sighed, tilting his head back. "I mean, we really shouldn't." His eyes finally met John's, squinting against the sun, and maybe a little sympathetic. "And you know it."

"Why not?"

Ronon decided to glare at the water so he wouldn't glare at John. "If we'd been paying better attention, the explosion might not have happened, the entire thing with McKay wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't have lost Weir."

"No. None of that was because we fucking _kissed_ , Ronon. It happened because the shield didn't make it up in time. And even then, what Rodney did? It's not because of this. So what's the real problem, here?"

"It's wrong."

"You sure about that?" Sheppard was smirking, though he didn't want to, and arguing with no expectation to win. "Didn't feel so bad. And you didn't seem to mind."

"Yeah. Well. Maybe I was wrong. What if someone finds out?"

"No one's going to. It's called being discreet."

"But if not? If people figure out that we're," Ronon gestured back and forth between them. "If they do that, you'll get sent away."

"It's a possibility-"

"It's one that you can't risk, and neither can I." Ronon stood up, made a few backwards steps, and turned away. "I'm sorry," he added, over his shoulder, and John the words like a kick to the gut.

He watched Ronon leave, wanting to order him back. Chase after him, or at least catch up for once. But he didn't.  
\---

Nine days later, Ronon found his squad, and it wasn't really like coming home, but it was as close as he was likely to get. Closer, anyhow, than Atlantis had become, especially now that Sheppard only ever saw him out of the corner of his eye anymore.

But then, before he was ready for it, he was looking straight at him and trying to talk him into staying. Giving him reasons, but no indication he actually wanted him there. Ronon wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed by this, but it changed nothing.

He went with his own people.

He killed them within days.

Their blood stained his skin as they fought, painting him a traitor. Then John, Teyla and McKay were there, looking like they could see it too, and they walked back to the jumper, distant as strangers. It wasn't enough, but Ronon knew worse disappointments than this.  
\---

He'd known that when he left, Atlantis would move on, and probably quickly. But the sight of his ransacked room was still a violation he hadn't been ready for.

He was still standing in the shambles, when Teyla's voice came from the open doorway.

"Ronon? Why haven't you gone to the infirm… What happened?"

"They went through my stuff. Doesn't matter." Ronon turned to face her, and Teyla got her first good look at him, bloody, bedraggled, and heartbroken, becoming wary as he watched her.

She realized that she must have looked angry, and then began to feel it as well, but it was for him, not at him.

"I will let you shower, but will return soon, and then, if you would like, I will help you set it to rights." Ronon nodded, absently, and grabbed some clothes hanging haphazardly out of an open drawer.

He was warm from the shower, sore muscles finally relaxed, and caught himself wanting to smile when he found Teyla sitting on the floor of his room, cross-legged and holding up a bottle of Ruus wine.

"Cleaning can wait for a little while. It has been a long week."

"No kidding." He sat down next to her, and watched her pour two measures, nodding his thanks as he accepted one, before noticing that she'd brought a third cup with her.

She noticed him noticing, and bowed her head, apologetically.

"I had thought to find John, but he was otherwise engaged. Truth be told, he seemed most distracted when I talked to him."

"Everyone is."

"True, but it is yourself and Sheppard who seem the most tense."

This was Athosian for "I don't particularly care if you don't want to talk about it, but I've decided you need to," and Ronon knew it, but he asked anyway.

"Do you really want to hear about it?" He squinted a little, feeling the cut on his temple stretch, but not open.

"Yes."

"After Carson, um. We shared a bed." He began picking up some papers that had been strewn across the floor. "We slept, nothing more. Kissed, a few times, since then. It went too far, but it's over with now. I hope."

"Why do you hope?"

"Because it's wrong. Because at least this way, he's still here at all." He drank some of the wine and straightened out the stack of papers, wondering tiredly if they'd found anything incriminating in his writing assignments and word lists. "Been thinking about it. It's weird. On Sateda, they would send people like that away. Here, they send them home."

He paused, trying to decide why that didn't sound right, and wound up admitting something to himself that he didn't want to let slip. "Or maybe it's people like _this_. Us," he murmured, touching his chest and fingering the wraith bones that still hung there. Teyla looked confused, when his eyes met hers again. "Never mind," he gestured the half-finished thought away.

"Sending John to Earth would be more of a banishment than a return. This _is_ his home."

Ronon nodded in agreement. _Yes! Exactly!_ "So who am I to make him put that at risk?"

"Is he why you wanted to leave?"

He denied it halfheartedly, saying, "I wanted to be with my own people," knowing that Teyla wouldn't have asked if she didn't already know. She took a sip and considered him for a moment, her regard unsettling, before she replied.

"This is _your_ home too, Ronon. Don't forget that."

"Yeah, well. Doesn't feel like it." He smirked bitterly at the open drawers of his bureau and the space where his picture had hung. Teyla followed his gaze and finished her wine, before standing up.

"I will attempt to locate your painting. And you will put your room to rights. And, with time, perhaps it will feel right again."

  
 **37\. Doppelganger**

Ronon was tired of waking up feeling like this.

It had been three days, and there were no more reports of Sheppard starring in the nightmares of Atlantis. Since Heightmeyer had died, there was no one to report to.

But every night, for almost a week, John Sheppard buried Ronon in the ground.

Pretending that nothing had happened was the only way they could remain in Atlantis. Ronon understood it. Hell, he'd _chosen_ it. He was burying it, Sheppard was burying him, and Ronon didn't need Heightmeyer to guess what the dreams all meant.

But he was a little curious.  He would have liked to know why he wasn't dreaming of eviction instead.  

Because now he knew- _had_ known for a while now- that there was nothing left for him anywhere else, he couldn't afford to lose Atlantis. It was his last shot. 

He also knew that there was only a small difference between being allowed to leave, and being allowed to return. Carter held all the cards, trusted him as little as he trusted her, and he wasn't sure how much time he had before she made her decision.  
\---

For the third time in as many days, Ronon was entering the gym as Sheppard was leaving. He'd returned to training the more advanced marines in the mornings, and ate with the team just often enough to make Sheppard unsure if the avoidance was real, or imagined. But they hadn't gone running together for weeks, and Sheppard was pretty sure that now that Ronon had decided to stay, they should have been able to break out of this holding pattern.

Every couple of hours, he was close to radioing him, calling him over to talk, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, what Ronon needed to hear, or if he even would have a chance to figure out what needed to change.

But anyway, he couldn't deal with it right now. Not when he had to comment on Carter's assessment of Ronon-as-a-flight-risk before the dial-in.

They'd gotten too close, and they'd risked too much. And as much as he'd denied it, alone, late at night, he wondered if Ronon had been right. If his head had really been where it should have been when he'd been sitting in the chair, if the shields could have gone up even the slightest bit faster, if Elizabeth could have made it…

 _No. Don't go there._

Should have fixed this right then, instead of running away.

Didn't have the time.

Bullshit.

And he was the one that broke it off. Let's not forget about that.

You didn't exactly fight him on it.

Didn't have the time. Atlantis comes first, and he's only one part of it.

Yeah, right up until he decided not to be.

And that was the entire issue, which Sheppard had to lay out in terms that wouldn't result in Ronon being given close quarters on level 16 at the SGC. He wasn't quite U.S. military, he wasn't quite not, and he hadn't quite been AWOL, but there was no good way to spin it.

He was relieved that Carter had at least left that part of it up to him, but as he read further, he also found that Carter apparently only considered Ronon's loose grasp of the chain of command a secondary issue.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He remembered the conversation well enough.

 _"Sheppard, I obviously don't know the details yet," Carter, closed her office door, with the finality of someone who hadn't needed to actually slam a door in years. "But if Ronon's been using intimidation as a persuasive tactic around here, he needs to be dealt with."_

"He hasn't," Sheppard responded, trying to decide if occasional death threats or stunner blasts were supposed to count.

"Okay. But I need to know what he's like on missions. I'll be going over the reports with a special attention to that detail. Just thought you should know."

"You won't find anything. He stretches it a little, now and then. More than our guys, but less than McKay."

"So he was just mouthy with me, then."

"Um. Yeah. He…takes a while to warm up to people."

"I don't need him warming up to me. I need to know that he's not undermining my command,  or yours."  
  
And that had been the end of the conversation. Then they'd hit the hive ship, and Ronon had killed his old friends, and apparently, at least according to the comments Sheppard was reading, that was proof enough for Carter.

Sheppard finished his comments, signed off on the report, and sent it to be compiled with the rest of the data burst.

  
 **38\. Travelers**

Teyla rolled her eyes, John smirked, and Ronon kept eating. It was as deliberately close to normal as things had been in a month, so McKay continued to speculate about sexy aliens and Sheppard's apparent proclivities therein, pretending to barely notice when Ronon picked up his tray, nodded goodbye, and left the table.

He caught Sheppard watching Ronon walk away. It was mostly gone by the time he turned back, but Rodney had since acquired the ability to read, identify, and categorize at least fifteen different shades of Sheppard's guilt, and this didn't look like a particularly new and interesting strain. Not that any of the others had been, either.  Not for weeks, now.

Unfortunately, Sheppard knew about Rodney's ability, and the conversation tripped, then stumbled to a halt. The only options were to address the reason behind it, or wish for Zelenka to do something stupid to the power grid that required his immediate attention.

Teyla rose, making a graceful exit that made McKay consider kicking her in the shin, consequences be damned. He glanced down at his tablet, seeing nothing amiss on the city systems display, and wondered what he could rig up without Sheppard noticing.

This was getting ridiculous.

He snorted and set down his fork, because there was no way he could finish eating with all this petty emotional idiocy dripping into his food. Sheppard started, and began picking at his plate, trying to discover the identity of the apparently offensive food, but it all looked safe.

"No, it's not that. What the hell happened, Sheppard?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I raise Weir from the dead using _nanites_ , putting the entire city at risk, blah blah blah, and you and I were back to normal within two weeks. Ronon gets homesick, and the two you go around kicking each other's puppies for a _month_."

"We're fine."  Sheppard shoved some bread into his mouth and chewed.  "Also, we don't have any puppies."

"He goes running without you, and you eat in your office if he's here first. Get over it already."

"Don't know what you're getting at, but I'm pretty sure I _don't_ need your advice." Sheppard glared as he packed up his tray and made to leave. McKay considered that, while no inroads had been made, he wasn't sporting a black eye, so it was a tie.

But then he heard Zelenka, cutting in from the next table over, and decided to re-score.

"Actually, Colonel, you may want to consider McKay's point. By the time that he, expert as he is, realizes that someone else _besides_ himself is being jerk, the straits are dire indeed."

Maybe it was a _slight_ win.

  
 **39\. Tabula Rasa**

Ronon heaped some more potatoes onto his plate, and turned away from the counter, accidentally meeting Teyla's eyes as he turned towards the tables. She watched him like he was prey.

 _Yeah, yeah, I said I'd be here. You talked at me for an hour and made me fucking pinky swear, and I still don't think it's a respected tradition among your people. There's no way anything that stupid didn't come from Earth. Stop looking at me like you're waiting for me to dive under a table, you meddling hag. Narrow your eyes all you want, I'll be there in my own time._

Ronon straightened, picking up his pace just to show Teyla know how little regard he had for her concern, and sat next to her. Any further meaningful glares would only hit his periphery.

He was picking up his fork, when he heard McKay ranting. He watched, along with Teyla, as McKay finally entered the room from the hallway, with Sheppard in tow. While McKay continued his litany, gesticulating more wildly than he probably should have been while holding a data pad, Sheppard looked reserved, slouching just a little less casually than usual. It wasn't the ramrod straight posture that came with the issue of bleak commands, but neither was it the comfortable rolling shoulders of relaxation.

  
Ronon huffed through his nose, and started eating. He was here to pretend like he wanted to be here, and that nothing was wrong, and hopefully to get Teyla's eyebrows to stop nagging him, but he was also here to eat dinner. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could leave, duty done.

It was Teyla who spoke first. Of _course_ it was.

"How are you both? Are you feeling better?" She pulled her tray back a little to make room on the table while the Earthers sat theirs down, pulling out chairs and sinking into them.

John addressed his mashed potatoes with some resentment. "I'm supposed to say how enthusiastic I am about not having to eat hospital food, but since they're serving it in here too, I'm just going with fine."

"And you, Rodney?"

"Fine. Healthy. Famished. Ronon, toss me the salt, would you?"

He passed it over, using the movement to mask a glance at Sheppard, and found that Sheppard was staring at him with a smirk that Ronon had thought he'd lost.

"You stunned me. Again," he accused, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders for emphasis, before sipping his coffee.

"You remember. That's good," Ronon spoke around his food, wondering if it was something he was supposed to make amends for. John looked a little pale still, like he could use more sleep, but he didn't look like he needed an apology. "Besides, you had it coming."

"Maybe. How many is that now?" Sheppard looked vaguely pleased as he said this, which meant that he wasn't suffering from a hazy memory, but making conversation.

Ronon suspected Sheppard had been pinky-sworn to make nice as well, but it didn't really matter, because he was rediscovering how much he liked being able to look straight at him again. Even if John was still a little ashen, and met his eyes with ones that were more intent than Ronon wanted.

"Five. I figure one bullet equals five stun blasts, so we're even now."

"But I was legally _insane_ when I shot you. And even so, that one only _grazed_ you" John whined, picking at his vegetables

"That's why it's only five stuns." Ronon said, catching himself smiling, finding that, yes, apparently, they could still do this. "Otherwise, it would be ten. Besides, if we're not counting shots taken under the influence of mania, then I still owe you one."

"Don't I get any points letting you kick my ass whenever we spar?"

"You would if you were _letting_ me beat you."   _Or maybe if we actually ever sparred anymore._

"These numbers are entirely arbitrary, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Something McKay taught me. Said he's been using imaginary numbers for months, and that you still hadn't caught on." Sheppard's chin lifted, but he didn't get the chance to challenge the point, because McKay himself cut in.

"Hey, what? No! That's not what I meant," he turned immediately to Sheppard to prove Ronon wrong, or possibly plead his case. "I was _merely_ trying to explain to him the more basic aspects of signal processing while I was trying to get the communication systems back up on the…"

Ronon held out as long as he could, but, as usual, the more McKay talked, the less sense he made. Sheppard nodded along, shooting a conspiratorially vacant look Ronon's way. Ronon missed everything McKay said, but he missed nothing important.

  
 **40\. Missing**

Teyla wouldn't have looked ill if she hadn't been lying in an infirmary bed, but she wasn't sleeping, either, and it was late. Ronon crept closer, casting a look over his shoulder to make sure none of the staff was looking ready to chase him out.

"I'm sorry about your people."   _I think I know how you're feeling_ , he would have finished, but he didn't want to take the liberty. He took her hand, instead, and hurried to amend his statement. "But, there're already got a bunch of people working on it. Wasn't sure if you heard."

"Thank you." There was a tension in her mouth that he couldn't quite read.

He nodded. "You sure you're feeling alright? I could get a doctor-"

Teyla smiled, finally deciding to accept the distraction. "Thank you, no. I feel I have had enough of doctors for one day. Perhaps _several_." She sighed, and searched the room for any onlookers. Ronon followed her gaze in confusion before finding her eyes intent on his, scowling in disbelief. "Do you ever wonder how Earthers manage to survive into adulthood?"

"There are no wraith in their galaxy," he answered, easily enough, though truth be told, he'd never given it much thought.

"True, but how do they not all drown in the bath?"   _Oh_.

"They take showers?" He raised his eyebrows and tried not to laugh.

"You are mocking me." She finally smiled, if a little tiredly, and seemed to relax.

"I am." He nodded. "Sorry. Was Doctor Keller that bad out there?"

"She was terrified, on the verge of tears much of the time. It made for a quite trying time, much more difficult than it might have been otherwise."

"Well, at least McKay wasn't there."

"I have come to realize we may not have been giving him enough credit. But do not tell him I said so."

"Course not."  
\---

Teyla was often quiet, and held things close, but before tonight, Ronon had never seen her unsure about anything. It was more unsettling than he wanted to admit.

He stayed for a while, but as the conversation shifted from the Bola Kai to loss of her people, he found himself more reticent to speak, and sensed that Teyla was running out of things she was willing to say, and the reason she was still in the infirmary had never come up.

Eventually, it became apparent that Teyla was tired and needed to rest, so Ronon left, unsettled and drained from wondering why she was shutting him out.

He had to get angry. He needed the fuel.

He cut through the gate room on his way back to his quarters, so he could see that McKay wasn't up in the office, presenting a solution to Carter, and Sheppard wasn't heading for the lockers, getting geared up for the rescue mission.

He was about to enter the transporter when he heard a low voice, coming from further up the hall. It was McKay, and he spoke as if he was fading away.

"-just don't know. Maybe if we got a CSI lab out here, they'd be able to find something, but our guys just weren't able to retrieve enough data from the settlement-"

"They brought back the gate addresses?" Sheppard was there, all frustration and shadowed eyes and mental exhaustion

"Yes, but." A jaw-popping yawn cut Rodney off, so Sheppard finished for him.

"But even if they did go through the gate in the first place, it's going to take a lot to search them all, and any of those addresses could have been stopovers, and searching them all is going to waste even more time and manpower. Carter won't go for it." Sheppard's narration was perfunctory, and he didn't pretend otherwise. His fingers brushed over the table's surface, picking at some small blemish there before smoothing it away, though his eyes never strayed.

Even so, with his eyes downcast at half-mast, he still noticed Ronon, standing in the doorway.

"Hey, c'mon in." Ronon took a few steps and stilled, waiting for an order that he knew wouldn't come. "We're just…I don't know what we're doing. Spinning our wheels. Trying to think of something. You talk to Teyla? Know if she has anything?" His eyes finally seemed to focus. "Do you?"

"Didn't seem like she has any ideas, but she's still reeling. And I've got nothing."

"Ah." Sheppard nodded, watching McKay fall asleep in his chair. "I haven't talked to her yet. She was sleeping when I went by earlier. I'm going back in the morning." Some mild annoyance crossed his features, but exhausted resolve replaced it. He didn't want to say whatever he was about to say.

"This is gonna sound weird, but... When you found out about Sateda, was there anything, you know, other than "just kidding," you would have wanted to hear?"

"Words don't make it easier."

"I know, it's just... I've got nothing else, and I don't..." he shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't want to go in there empty handed."

"You should get some sleep. Things might look better in the morning," and it was strange, being the optimistically reasonable one, but someone had to do it, and it wasn't like there were any witnesses. He cut his eyes over to McKay, just to be sure.

  
 **41\. The Seer**

"Hey. We didn't blow up today."  Sheppard stood in front of Ronon's open door, holding up a six-pack. "Beer on the pier?"

"Uh, okay." Ronon threw his boots on, grabbed his coat, and followed Sheppard out of the city, wondering if this was the next expected step in closing the breach, or if there was something else it was supposed to mean.

 _Maybe Teyla was right, and this is home again_. Because it felt right, to be sitting down next to John again, watching the ocean. He accepted the beer he was given, and tried not to notice that John was drinking his own so quickly. Ronon followed suit.

"So listen. I know we haven't talked much," Sheppard ventured, as he set the empty can aside. "But, we should."

"Okay."

"Okay." Johns mouth quirked a little, and Ronon pretended not to notice. "I know things have been weird, and I'm sorry I was such a jerk. I freaked you out, then I cut you out, and it was wrong."

"It's alright. You did what you had to. I just," Ronon scratched at his beard. "I wasn't ready."

"Had you ever been with another guy?"

"No. And, ah, it's been a while since I've been with a woman, so… You?"

"Yeah."

Ronon nodded, and drained his beer. John handed him another one, and he finished most of it before trying again.

"On Sateda, sons are- _were_ born to fight, and to father sons for the fight. Anything that stood in the way was traitorous. Sateda was a good place. I wish you could see it. But we banished our traitors. I never expected to become one of them."

"Shit. That's harsh. But I hear you. It's a hell of a thing to get blindsided by."

"What was it like for you?"

"It was scary, at first. Depressing, embarrassing, take your pick."

"No kidding."

"But I had people I could talk to, and that helped."

"Oh."

"And listen." _And here it come_ s, Ronon thought, but not interrupting. "I know you talk to Teyla, but I'm here too, if you ever need to talk."

Ronon laughed through his nose.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just. When I told you we had to stop," Ronon had no idea what he'd meant to say, and it hung there for a moment, even after his breath had dissipated, invisible in the air. The grin that had started out so wry stumbled off his face. They weren't there yet.

He barely caught Sheppard's voice over the waves.

"I may not have fought when I should have, but I wanted to."

"Why didn't you?" Ronon hadn't thought not to ask until he'd already done so, and by then it was too late. Sheppard wasn't answering, because he'd pushed it to far, or waited too long, or was asking things that he didn't have the right to know, or-

"Didn't think you'd wanted me to."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." And Ronon knew Sheppard hadn't understood, and that more would ride on his next words than he was comfortable with. "Okay. I don't know what's going on, but out of all the things that have happened, you're one of the good ones. I'm sorry about how it all went down."

"Me too. I fucking miss you." Sheppard was blushing, even the tips of his ears were red, and he wasn't looking at Ronon, because he was looking at the water like he was considering diving in.

 _At least I'm not the only one._

"I miss you too. Hey." He grabbed John's arm, made him meet his eyes. "Stop that and look at me, would you?" Ronon took a breath and hoped he sounded stronger than he felt. "I'm kind of messed up. But it's better when you're around." John opened his mouth to speak, but Ronon shook his head, not able to take the interruption. "So, um. If you _wanted_ to be around more, I'd be good with it, Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Ronon didn't want to be noticing the cold so much.  It was distracting. He glanced over at John, frozen in place, but not freezing, staring back at him.

Then John's lips met his, cold until they opened to him, and in his mouth, Ronon found warmth again, felt it spilling down to his chest, to his stomach, felt it coiling, deep in his groin, and he didn't know what to do with it, so he tried kissing it all back into John's mouth.

  
 **42\. Miller's Crossing**

John fumbled with the keycard, homesick for doors that opened when he wanted them to.

"Atlantis this ain't," he said, finally managing to get it open, and walked inside, depositing his coffee and their food on the table before tossing his jacket on the bed.

Ronon brushed close as he passed him, setting the M9 Sheppard had insisted he bring on the table before sitting down on the bed and looking up at him, smiling, a little shy.

"So now what?"

"Now, I guess, we wait until McKay's done. Figure we've got a few hours to kill."   _We eat first, and then make out until he calls.  
_  
"He said it would be ten to twelve hours."

"Yeah. Cut that in half for the fact that it's his _sister_ at risk, then take away another hour for the fact that he's only got to tear apart a windows machine that isn't hooked into life support."

"Whatever. I'm starved." Ronon went back to the table and grabbed the bags, throwing napkins aside and looking at the wrapped sandwiches. "Is there a difference?"

"Nah, they're both turkey. The chips and soda are all you, though."

"Doritos, huh?" He opened the bag, pulling one out and shoving it in his mouth. "It's good. Better than popcorn. Why didn't you get some?"

"Lived on them when I was in college. Promised myself I'd never eat them again."  
\---

Less than an hour later, Ronon was swearing a similar oath, kneeling on the tile, sweating, and wondering how a stomach knotted so tight could heave so much, while he waited for the door to open and close again, signaling that John had returned.

"This isn't exactly how I pictured this was going to work out," John called, when finally he arrived, and Ronon looked up to see him come into the bathroom. He crouched down and twisted the cap off a bottle, which he then handed over. "Drink some of this, it'll help."

Ronon regarded the pink stuff with some trepidation, but wasn't looking so closely that he missed the gleam in John's eyes.

"Stop laughing. S'not funny." Ronon swallowed some of the disgustingly chalky liquid, and would have scowled, but it was too much effort, so he shoved the bottle back at John, instead, and pretended like John's hand, warm on his back, wasn't soothing.

"It will be, once you're feeling better, and you've kicked my ass once or twice. Wanna go lie down for a bit?" John reached up, placing the bottle on the counter, and held his hand out.

"Gotta brush my teeth, first." Ronon let John help him up. "And this gets out to _no one_."  
\---

The knot in his stomach was all that kept Sheppard from screaming, and it didn't ease when Ronon caught up to him in the gate room, looking at him quizzically, pausing a few steps away, already knowing that something was wrong.

He continued to cast worried glances in his direction, but kept his distance, until they were finally settling into their room on Midway.

With the door to their shared bunk closed, John didn't need to be facing Ronon to hear the worry in his voice when he finally broke the silence. "John?"

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to be able to look Ronon in the eye ever again, so he closed his eyes, imagining himself before a firing squad, before he turned around.

"There's something I've got to tell you."

"What is it?" The concern in Ronon's voice was more than he deserved, and his stomach twisted painfully as he realized that, after today, it would likely never be there again. Ronon's hand took his and his eyes flew open, startled. He squeezed back, and did not let go, because Ronon would do so himself, momentarily. "What's going on?"

"I crossed a line today," he began. "I crossed a line and a man is dead."

"Wallace?" John nodded in response. "The wraith attacked him. There's nothing you could have done."

"Yeah. That's what it says in the report. It's not what happened."

"What _did_ happen?" Ronon sat down on the lower bunk and pulled Sheppard to sit next to him, before leaning back, not wanting to crowd the answer out of him.

"McKay came to see me. Told me that Sharon had died. The replicators... there was a problem with them. Jeannie was going to be next, and the wraith had passed out, because he hadn't fed. McKay couldn't finish solving the problem on his own, and he even admitted it." There was no humor in the smirk that crossed his face. "In order for the wraith to finish the work, he was going to offer himself up." He swallowed, throat constricting against his efforts. "I couldn't let him do that."

Ronon nodded, saying nothing, but John was afraid of what he might see in his eyes, since he'd probably already put the rest together. But he had to go on.

"I went to see Wallace, and he wasn't… He wasn't an evil man. He felt remorse, and I played on it until he offered himself up instead. Then I helped it happen. Because he wasn't McKay. He wasn't one of my people. But he was still a person, and I _fed_ him to a fucking _wraith_."

Ronon hadn't looked at him that way since the first time they'd met, in the cave, when he was still trying to decide whether or not he'd kill them. And then Ronon was standing, up and through the door, gone, and John couldn't even pretend to be surprised.  
\---

The tears never broke through, though it had been a close thing. After an interminable time fighting it, he was pretty sure he could keep it up as long as he didn't think.

 _Don't think about betraying the mission and murdering a man. Don't think about taking someone's raw grief and using it against them. Don't think about how easily you'd let your emotions lead you. Don't think about the look in Ronon's eyes._

He ran through songs in his head, and stared at the wall, and wished he could think the lights off like he could at home.

His heard the door open and close again, and listened to Ronon remove his holster, then his boots. The soft metal clanks of knives being placed on the table came next.

Finally, the light went off, and he heard nothing.

Perversely deciding to meet the awkwardness head on, he craned his neck, and could just make out Ronon, barely defined by the orange glow from his gun on the table. He was still, arms at his sides, but his face was in shadow.

"Hey," John offered. It wasn't like he could pretend that he was still asleep, after all.

"Hey." Ronon replied, after a moment, but he didn't move.

John's neck hurt, so he turned back towards the wall. The day had been fucked enough, and he didn't need any more weirdness on top of it. Ronon standing still and staring at him was the least of his problems.

Then he felt the mattress dipping next to him, and Ronon crowding against him, an arm coming up to wrap around his chest. Before John could start decoding what this all meant, Ronon began to talk, softly, almost a whisper, but he was close enough that John heard every breath.

"I have never surrendered another to the wraith, but I _have_ killed, and with none of the nobility of cause that you had today." John nodded, hesitantly, and closed his eyes, and he listened to Ronon breathe, his chest rising and falling against his back. Then Ronon was speaking again, brushing words across John's neck.

"Because of what you did, we did not lose McKay today. McKay didn't lose his sister today. Kaleb didn't lose his wife, and Madison didn't lose her mother. The future is better for what you did today."

John didn't deserve these words, but Ronon pulled close against him, forestalling his attempt to say so. "When you told me earlier, you took me by surprise. I'm sorry I ran." He exhaled heavily through his nose, and it might have been a weak laugh. " _Again_. I don't mean to keep doing it."

He rolled onto his back, Ronon's chest pressed warmly against his side, his hair brushing across his face. He leaned close, not wanting to give the words room enough to stray before reaching their destination. "You've done nothing wrong. Seriously. But thanks for coming back." He kissed the words into Ronon's temple, before rolling back to his side and resettling. He took Ronon's hand and holding it to his own heart, simply because, for tonight at least, he could get away with it.

Ronon kissed John's shoulder through the material of his shirt, and pressed his forehead to the back of his neck, and didn't move for the rest of the night.

  
 **43\. This Mortal Coil**

Sheppard left the lab, grateful that McKay had found the replicator ships. It was bad news, and they didn't have a plan yet, but at least they had a warning. They knew more than they did this morning. But it didn't help much with the task at hand.

He sealed the last box and put it with the others by the door. Elizabeth Weir's life packed down to three boxes, but there were two more boxes- files of hopes and plans and ideas- that wouldn't be going back with them.

And there wasn't even a body, just this overhanging loss that would stick around long after the boxes were sent back to Earth.

John decided with certain finality that the paperwork could be left for the morning. But then, barring an emergency, there was nothing left to do but sit and think, or read War and Peace.  Neither option was particularly attractive.

The light was on in the reading library, and he followed it down the hall like a beacon. If he were lucky, it would lead him to some trashy sci-fi that hadn't yet been snidely annotated by the local geeks, who just couldn't _help_ themselves.

What he found, instead, was Ronon, head held up with one hand and sheer force of will, drumming a pen on the tabletop. He was mouthing the words to himself as he read, but otherwise looked every bit the exhausted college student.

"Hey," he said, actually managing to catch Ronon off guard, judging by the startled twitch he hadn't been able to hide.

"Hey," Ronon blinked, trying to refocus. "What's up?"

"Just packed up Weir's things. What about you?"

Ronon said the second thing that came to mind. "Practicing." He shoved the notebook across the table towards John with some relieved disdain. "Think I've got it down, but Teyla's still looks better than mine does."

"She's got a year on you." Plus, you only ever work on it when your brain won't shut down. He grabbed the book from the table and turned it over. "The Outsiders, huh? I liked this one. Read it in school."

"Only ten pages left," he stretched, cocking his head. "You think the replicator version of me took writing classes?"

"Huh?" John thought he might have missed the segue, but caught himself up. "No clue. What's your guess?"

"Didn't really talk to him."

"I noticed. Would've been impossible, anyway, with the conference for the Mutual McKay Admiration Society going on."

"Yeah. But. I don't know. Could have handled it better maybe." At John's scowl, he continued. "McKay loved meeting himself. Didn't even bother him that it was a replicator. You and yours worked as one. The Teylas were Teylas, so who knows."

"Yeah, and?"

"Me? I hated him. It, me, whatever. And now McKay's hiding out in his lab mourning and Teyla's burning that incense again, and I don't really understand, or give a damn about why."

"It's not required, you know. They're not us. They're replicators, nothing more."

"So you're not at all messed up over seeing Weir." Ronon stated, confirming some thought he'd apparently had, and John wondered if he'd just been played.

"That's different. I miss _her_ , not her replicator." Ronon nodded, conceding the point, eyes on John's hands as he opened the notebook and began to read. Every other page was neat, perfect script, gallingly better than his own, while the facing page was Satedan.

"You're writing it down in both?"

"Yeah. That way, if I forget how to read it in English, I can read it anyway." Ronon sounded resigned, like he was sure he'd need it someday.

"Like the Rosetta Stone," John nodded, flipping to the next page before glancing up to Ronon's quirked eyebrows. "Back on Earth, it was a rock found in Egypt. It had three written languages on it. Two were known, and the third wasn't. The two that were known said the same thing, and knowing that, they were able to decode the third one. Hieroglyphics. The linguists love them. We never would have figured out the stargates without that. Another long story."

"What did it say?"

John looked to the side, trying to remember.  "You know, I never thought to ask."

Ronon was quiet, thinking, and John let him. After a few moments, he spoke. "So, in a hundred years, or whenever, when Satedan is gone, people could know it from this?" He wasn't meeting Sheppard's eyes, staring at the notebook he held instead.

"The writing at least. They'd still be reading a story from Earth."  He handed it back to Ronon.  "It would be a good first step, though, so don't spill anything on it." Ronon nodded, but Sheppard figured he wasn't really listening. _It had to be bad enough to know that Sateda was gone, but that it would be forgotten as well…_

John found himself wishing he hadn't brought it up, but he wasn't going to patronize Ronon by saying so, or by pointing out that there were at least three hundred Satedan survivors, and that there were less than two hundred people here who could write in English. "You done for the night?" He would have liked the company, but if Ronon was going to be living in his head, then he'd let him be.

Ronon shook himself out of his thoughts, and grinned up at John. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Not really ready to turn in, though. You have plans? Cause I don't have plans, but wouldn't mind, you know."

"Having plans?" John nodded, grinning as Ronon stood, picking up his books "Sounds good."

Ronon followed John to his room quietly, and it wasn't until the door was closed that John noticed that the silence had followed them in.  
\---

John kept his room at uncomfortably low temperatures sometimes. Ronon suspected it was a reminder of where he'd come from. He'd asked about it, once, thinking that maybe John had done something to anger McKay into messing with his thermostat.

"I _like_ it like this," John had explained, shrugging carelessly. "Everything else here is too perfect, sometimes. And it's not like it's the dangerous kind of cold."

Ronon had understood at the time, but wasn't sure he agreed anymore. Not with John looking at him like that, hungry and waiting.

Ronon stepped closer, hands coming up to brush against John's sides, wrapping around to the knobs of his spine, fingers scratching questions at the fabric there.

John regarded him for a moment, smiling as he leaned forward and up, just a little, to reach his mouth. Their lips met, lazily at first, and Ronon felt John's hands running up his back, up under his hair, warm on his neck as he was pulled in, deepening the kiss.

Ronon shifted his stance, and John stumbled against him, their mouths breaking contact. "You're too damned tall," John grumbled, nipping at his collarbone. He stepped back, but not away, waiting for Ronon's nod before moving-just barely-  out of the circle of his arms.

Ronon followed John's backward steps to the bed, pinning him against it as he reached out again.  He toyed with the edges of John's shirt for a minute before dragging it up over his head. Bringing his arms down, too quickly John regained his balance using Ronon's arms.

And when John tugged, he followed, and for the first time in their shared history, John let himself be pinned down. A brief repositioning of limbs, and they were kissing again, all sliding wet heat, lips and teeth and tongue.

Ronon's mind was beginning to understand what this was turning into, grasping the surety of it low in his belly, heavy and warm, but he must have hesitated, because John broke off.

"You okay with this?" he panted, brushing away some hair to see his eyes, searching. Ronon nodded against his forehead, looking down at John's bare shoulders, his chest. All of that skin.

"Cool. Tell me if it's too much." Hands were brushing under his shirt again, fingers splaying to hold his ribs, and he leaned in again, kissing along John's neck until he heard, low and rough. "Take off your shirt."

Ronon paused again. He didn't know why; his body wasn't anything Sheppard hadn't seen before, but now that John was looking, it seemed insurmountable.

"Just your shirt," John amended, hands sliding down to his hips, thumbs brushing against his belly as he rose, straddling over John. "If you want."

A decision, then, and a nod, and Ronon pulled the shirt over his head. He let it fall to the floor, feeling the cold air of the room wash over his skin.

Every instinct he had told him to cover himself, to hide. He wasn't beautiful, not enough for John to be looking at him with such hunger. Ronon knew his grace was for the fight, that it hadn't left much for anything else. It just left him with scars, strikes against him, all over his body. Showing these was probably showing himself too much an animal- someone you want to _fight_ with, not someone you want to _lay_ with.

Not like Sheppard. He was _perfect,_ all clean angles, sharp shadows, and quiet, patient strength.

"Your scars're gone," Sheppard drawled, running warm hands up his chest, brushing his fingers over the unblemished skin. "I forgot 'bout that…"

"So did I." Ronon laughed, a little too tightly, feeling John's thumb brushing across a nipple.  Already hardened from the chill of the air, it sang its electricity straight through to his spine.

"C'mere." John pulled him back down, and rolled the both of them until they were face to face, until nothing existed outside of the arms around him, weight and warmth. He didn't know where to put his hands; they came up to be pressed against John's chest, and he could feel John's heartbeat through his wrists, strong and insistent.

John leaned in and placed a kiss just below his ear, and Ronon hummed contentedly as he turned back to taste him again, wrestling his arm out to wrap it around John, fingers skating through the sweat that he found there.

John's hand moved, pressing warmly down his chest before moving down to scratch across his stomach. Ronon closed his eyes against the feeling of fingers trailing along the waistband, barely scraping at the skin beneath.

His muscles jumped, and John laughed gently at the whimper that escaped, but then he was kissing him again, too ardently for embarrassment to take hold. The hand moved across Ronon's side, kneading and pulling and brushing, until finally- and Ronon hadn't known he'd been waiting for it, been wanting it- John's fingers were worrying the laces holding his leathers on.

He pushed himself against Sheppard, then, needing to feel all of him, John's quiet groan urging him to slide his hand down, fingers sliding into the back pocket of his BDU's, pulling him closer, until they were pressed tight from chest to knees, all hardness and answering heat.

Ronon couldn't stop his hips from stuttering anymore, and it was getting to be too much and not enough, and then John was pulling back too.

"Clothes off. Now," he growled, rumbling at Ronon's startled laugh, and they sat up, yanking on bootlaces and socks. Ronon realized, as he moved, that the laces to his leathers were already completely undone, and that there was something distinctly unfair about it.

He intercepted John's hands and pushed them down to the bed, before sitting back to finish the job. His hands brushed against the hardness there, and he rubbed his wrist deliberately into its heat, tracing its shape.

"Fuck," John moaned, and Ronon leaned back, and before he could lose his nerve, pulled at the cloth, not stopping until John was nude, and he was frozen.

He realized he'd been staring at John's cock, and the pale skin it rested on, only when he looked up to John's reddened and disheveled face.

"Too much?"

"Not enough," Ronon realized, his dreadlocks brushing up John's chest as he rose up to reclaim his open mouth. John tugged violently on his leathers, pushing them down until Ronon was able to kick them off.

It was ungainly and awkward, and then there was nothing between them but their skin. John rolled, pinning Ronon down with a thigh that just grazed against his cock, rasping against the jumping flesh, and Ronon scrambled against him for some sort of purchase to stop the falling.

John stilled, running a soothing hand along his torso, gentling him. His mouth found Ronon's again, kissing him back to calm, and Ronon drank John's breath until he remembered to breathe on his own. The air beneath John's ear was damp and hot.

Neither moved, Ronon's heart regaining itself under John's steady palm.

"This okay?" he asked, whispering, and Ronon answered with a whine, fingernails curling to scratch at John's back.

John's grasp slid down to Ronon's hip, thumb petting at the skin there, new and promising and exposed, and moved again, and too-soon- _finally_ brushed against Ronon's length, eliciting a choking moan that neither had been prepared for, if John's answering gasp was anything to go by.

Ronon moved his hands, then. Frantic, needing to feel more of John's skin to distract himself from his own. There was a scar on the back of John's shoulder, raised and slick, and his fingers traced along the length of it and back again.

"Yeah, I got 'em too."

"Sorry," Ronon thrust his hand away from the offense and down, across John's belly, fingers slipping across the tip of John's cock, and then back again, startled at the discovery.

John was panting now, his mouth moving against Ronon's shoulder as if to speak. Ronon wrapped his fingers around John and smoothed his hand up the shaft, amazed at the stick and slide on his palm. Back down again, and John's hip twitched so violently that he thought-  
-and John was grabbing his shoulders, yanking him back up and stealing back into his mouth as he shook apart against Ronon's side.

"Didn't say I didn't like it," he panted through the aftershocks, and to confirm, his hand fumbled, cupping Ronon with a delicious amount of pressure, moving without movement. Pressed into himself, Ronon wasn't prepared for it to overtake him, but John held him tight, face against his, grounding the current as he sobbed his release.

He felt nothing but muscles shaking and hands that came up to cradle his neck. They rubbed idly at the base of his scalp, easing him back to peace. Ronon wished he could see John's face, but didn't want to move.  
\---

Touching Ronon was a shattering experience, but watching him leave the bed was going to be heartbreaking.

"First shift's starting soon."  Ronon stated, dragging himself away, cold air chilling the sweat.  "I should go."

"In a perfect world, you wouldn't be creeping out of here like some dirty secret." John didn't want to say it, afraid of putting bad ideas into Ronon's head, but it was true. Ronon deserved better.

"But I am, kind of." Ronon grimaced. "I mean. _Secret_. I'll be less dirty once I take a shower."

John laughed. "Yeah. Well, I just. Might want you here in the morning, is all," he was looking away, determinedly picking at a thread that had come loose from the sheet.

"I'll be back in three hours, and we'll go for a run." Ronon pulled on his boots, and moved to lean over Sheppard. "So you'd better rest up, and don't lose sleep over this. I'm not abandoning you.  I'm not running away.  But I need to sleep, and shouldn't do it here, and you know it."

"Okay."

"See you in the morning," he smiled, stealing a quick kiss before backing to the door.

  
 **44\. Be All My Sins Remember'd**

Ronon was late.

John waited for fifteen minutes, the dread cold and heavy in his gut, while he tried to predict the damage control that would be needed, and forcing himself down the hall.

Ronon was just coming out the door as he approached, nodding tiredly at the concern in John's eyes, and bumped into John's shoulder as they began to walk.

It looked like every other morning. It felt like any other morning. They began to run, silent until they reached the turnaround point, and even this felt bizarrely normal.

 _Except for the fact that a few hours ago he was crawling naked from the bed…._

"So…" John cringed against his own awkwardness. Ronon was scanning back over their route, still breathing heavily after the run, and it was turning into that morning, all over again.

 _This_ time, John decided to go down fighting. He grabbed Ronon's arm and pulled him around the corner of the baluster, and crushed his mouth up against Ronon's.

Ronon met him halfway, his arms wrapping around his shoulders. They only slackened just before the kiss did.

"So," Ronon's eyes danced, ruining the effect of his otherwise shamefaced expression. "Sorry I was late. Couldn't get to sleep last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Thinking too much. Good thoughts, though. Hadn't done that in a while."

"Sweet. I was worried they might not have been."

Ronon's voice shifted, apprehensive as he held John's face in close regard. "Like yours were?"

"What? No! I was asleep minutes after you left. I'm an old man, you wore me out."

Ronon was sunshine and light, laughing like it was the best joke he'd ever heard.

Sheppard returned to the city so smug that Lorne was convinced that he'd outpaced Ronon, and told them so as they entered the mess.

"He's pretty spry, for an old man," Ronon shrugged as they queued up to the chow line. "Doesn't matter. I'll beat it out of him after lunch."

"See that you do. He's unbearable like this."

"I'm right here, you know."

"Of _course_ you are, sir."  
\---

Less than ten hours later, the teams were herding villagers away from the flames engulfing their homes, down towards the gate. Sheppard had last been seen guiding an injured man to the active gate, before heading back into the smoke.

That had been ages ago, and there were still two children unaccounted for.

"Do we know for sure that this was the replicators?" Ronon sidled up to Rodney, eyes still scanning the village, trying to figure out where he was needed next.

"No idea, but it's not the wraith's style. Though leaving any survivors at all isn't the replicator's, so…"

"But-"

"I don't _know_ ," Rodney spun on Ronon, "look, if I can't get the workaround handled, we're have no idea how to find Sheppard, and-"

Ronon was already gone, running down to intercept Lorne, struggling to assist another villager, an old woman, with the eyes of second childhood, shaky on her feet. Lorne handed her over with a heavy sigh.

"Eight minutes," he said, nodding at the gate, his expression grim.

"Rodney will fix the DHD," Ronon hefted the woman's bag over his shoulder, and hurried her away, under his arm. 'And we've still got the jumpers."

"Let's hope so," Lorne growled, turning away. "Come on, people, let's _go_!"  
\---

The gate had been inactive for almost an hour, and the villagers that weren't frozen in panic were being split up into search parties, though they fought Ronon and Lorne all the way.

Finally having made some headway, Ronon ran back to the DHD. Rodney was already talking. "Radios are back up, and the jumpers aren't seeing anything in orbit, but it's going to take hours to complete the DHD interface to the power supply. We'll probably end up ferrying everyone back by jumper anyhow."

"Any sign of him?"

"Managed to get him on the radio for a second, about an hour ago. Found the six year-old hiding in a cellar. He's fine, but the kid needs a doctor. Sheppard's not sure where he is, and they're trapped. Their exit was cut off, and I'm hoping that's what's blocking radio communications."

"You hope?"

"Because if he's not even _trying_ to use his radio?"

"Right." Ronon rejoined the search, keeping an eye back on Lorne's team as they tried to stop a riot before it began.  
\---

After the third hour, one of the marines heard an SOS being pounded out on some pipes sticking out of the foundation of a house Ronon had checked an hour before.

He stood back, frustrated, watching the engineers as they pried the roof beams off the cellar door, and tried not to take it out on the boy's mother, standing next to him and watching, vibrating with tension.

The engineers cleared the debris, and they made their way down the steps. The woman shoved herself down ahead of Ronon, actually knocking him against the wall. He smiled a little, until he reached the floor and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he watched Sheppard place the small, unmoving body into her arms before pushing himself up to stand. He was speaking, but too quietly for Ronon to hear.

 _This wasn't for him_.

Ronon was an intruder here, so he quietly backed out of the cellar, shoving marines out ahead of him. The villagers seemed to read his shoulders, and the throng finally fell silent. He knew they would all be staring when Sheppard, the mother, and her dead son came out of that cellar, and he hated them for it.

He stood at the outskirts of the village, watching the trees for a minute, and set off to resume search for the missing girl. He was the only one out here looking- even her parents were back in the village, watching that scene, hearts momentarily too dead to search.

She was hiding in the rushes on the riverside, and she rose warily. She asked him if he was lost, and offered to walk him back to the village, because she knew shortcuts through the trees where the darts couldn't see. She was too old for her years. Typical of the heavily culled planets.

He followed her back along one trail and another, then walked off when the parents tried to thank him. He could see why they felt thankful, but it felt obscene, the fuss they were making, in sight of the woman who sat crumpled in the dirt, arms around her dead son. John was nowhere in sight.

Eventually, the villagers were boarding the jumpers- three of them, and Lorne radioed him back to the fourth. Sheppard was sitting in back, dusty and silent, dead-eyed, when he joined him on the bench.

No one else was talking, and he didn't want to be heard. _This wasn't for them._ Instead, he slid his hand into Sheppard's, and held on as they made their way through the atmosphere. Neither let go until they heard Rodney start the dialing sequence for home.

  
 **45\. Spoils of War**

"You need to talk to her," Ronon said, apropos of nothing as they made their way towards the locker room. "She was in the gym earlier," Ronon sighed. "I don't think she's going to just stand down. I mean, I tried talking to her, but…"

"Not her call to make. I'm not letting her put her child at risk because she's pissed off about her people. And I know it sucks, but what do you want me to do here? She's lost her people, that's bad enough. What do you think will happen if she loses her kid?"

Ronon nodded. "That won't happen," he sounded certain, pausing as John waved the door to the locker room open. Lorne's team was already suiting up. "But you've _got_ to talk to her," he finished, quietly, not wanting Lorne to hear him giving Sheppard orders.  
\---

Ronon watched the storm brewing around Teyla and Sheppard, and decided to follow Lorne's lead, grabbing McKay on his way out.

"She can't be _serious_ ," Rodney shook his head in disbelief. "What kind of mother sees a hive ship out in the middle of space and decides to take her unborn child with her? Doesn't anyone in this universe have survival instincts, or is it just an Earth thing?!"

Ronon was still enough that he didn't even need to glare.

"Okay, _maternal_ instincts."

"Think that might be why she's so hell bent on getting out there," Lorne shrugged. "There's a threat out there, what kind of mother wouldn't want to eliminate it? Anyway, " he continued, his glance resting on Ronon just a little too long, "it's _Sheppard's_ call." Lorne set to readjusting his vest, and rechecking his P90, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Ronon continued to watch Lorne out of the corner of his eye. There had been a message there, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure of its intent.

  
 **46\. Quarantine**

When Ronon was running, he hung all his ideals, every concept of perfection, on Melena's memory. She was warmth on cold worlds, she was water in the desert, she was death and the end of running. She was always peace.

Their mothers had arranged their marriage before they'd even come of age, and they'd taken rooms together once he'd graduated from the barracks. It had been simple, easy and right. He'd known her, and been known to her. He would fight, and she would heal, and they would carve their place in a world they understood.

 _"…after breakfast, where I'm going to purchase your wedding blanket. Have you decided what colors you want?"_

"Orange, and red, warm like fire," he pretended not to overhear Melena's response to his mother's question, and stepped heavily on the floorboards as he stumbled into the kitchen.

He blinked against the sudden brightness of the kitchen, and pretended not to know the reason for his mother's early visit.

"I'm supposed to be on base in an hour. Seen my vest around?"

"Speaking of seeing things around," his mother rose and stepped towards the door. "I will see the both of you at dinner tomorrow night."

"Not if I see you first," he grumbled, rummaging through the tins to find some stronger tea and pretending not to notice the dishrag that Melena threw at him.

He hadn't seen his mother first. He'd never see her again.

Early in his captivity, feverish and wild, he'd broken his bonds and searched the hive, dry panic constricting his throat as he crept through shadows, searching, uncomprehending of the fact that hundreds had been in the market that day, that hundreds lay dead in the square. All he knew was that his mother might have made it onto the hive, might have brought the blanket with her, and she might have it still, one small token that proved he'd ever had hopes for a future.

He'd been caught, then, and brought before the wraith, and from that day on, his future was nothing more than survival until death.

Until he couldn't remember Melena's face anymore. All he remembered was the fire.  
\---

Major Edwards fought well, for such a new arrival, and knew how to use a body's inertia against itself. It had been surprisingly pleasant, that first time, staggering up from the mat to the laughter from the gathered marines, and their sparring matches had become a welcome addition to the average week.

Today, though, it felt different, dangerous somehow, and it wasn't just the recent addition of knives to their repertoire.

He risked another glance over the crowd. He hadn't yet found the source of the unsettlement, but was growing more certain it was there. He fought on.

He sent Edwards to the floor and let him regain his footing and his blade. As he circled the mat, eyes skating over onlookers, he found it.

Lorne was watching him.

Not with the common interest of trying to foresee his next hit, but with the intent of a strategist, weighing options and threats. Studying him, integrating what he saw with what he knew. And maybe it was complacency, or a false sense of security, but Ronon hadn't been prepared to see it.

He glanced back to Edwards, nodding, but his mind was elsewhere, and he knew it was stupid, even as he was struck by a sweep that Edwards had, judging by his apologies, expected him to block.

The cut wasn't the most dangerous thing in the room, but it was bleeding, and needed to be seen to.

\---

The hallways were no more or less busy than they were at any other time of day, and even if Zelenka had glanced down at his arm as they passed, no one was staring. It was a welcome reprieve, even if he couldn't shake the scrutinized feeling.  
\---

Keller wanted to talk. Get to know him better. Ronon said as little as he could get away with, and that seemed to be the end of it. Her curiosity, warm and friendly as it was, was more than he could give into.

 _Not today._ Lorne was already trying to see through him enough for the both of them.

He tried to figure out what McKay and Sheppard would be doing in a situation like this, and so was torn between hiding in a corner and climbing the walls. He looked over at Keller to see if she'd come up with anything, and watched her rearranging the syringes again.

She noticed him, and stopped. "A doctor with no one to doctor," she laughed, a little, and turned away to survey the infirmary again. Melena would have done the same thing. Made the same joke.

In another lifetime, he would have known how to respond.

He wished Teyla was there with them. She would have known what to say. But part of it would have been that everything happens for a reason.

He got up and tried the doors again.  
\---

In his mind, he saw Melena caught up in an explosion that she'd been too stubborn to avoid, and watched in silence as Jennifer scored the oxygen tank.

The plan didn't work, and Ronon was more relieved than he should have been. Not with Keller looking so resigned, like the fight was going right out of her. They needed to get up, do something, try again. John, if he was alive, was working on it. Ronon owed him more than this.

 _The sun made you sick, but the nights were warm, and it was a good a place as any to die._

The only collateral damage would be one madman. He'd shot the hunter not out of kindness or any sort of human compassion, but for some other insane need. Ronon owed him nothing.

He needed a few hours to get a lock on a gate address. Known addresses were for living worlds. He was left to dial blindly, at random.

Maybe the next world would be wraith-held, finally. Or open out into pure nothing, or a deep ocean. He was tired of running. Of waiting for a slow, sun-sick death. He was tired of caring about the lives of people he wasn't allowed to know.

He heard voices, a man and a woman, tracking him, and they were damned close. He drew his gun, and wondered if his life was finally going to end.

It wasn't until much later that he realized that it had.  
\---

He wondered what Keller would say if he told her about what it was like, to bring death wherever you go. To not care if another dies. To want to die. To fight battles that change absolutely nothing and consider them wins.

But Keller was regarding him with serene expectation, and he couldn't bring himself to speak, or to turn away. Melena's eyes would have looked at him this way, all simple warmth and laughter, and her eyes would have danced like this. She would not want to hear his truths either. Not anymore.  
\---

Sheppard finally joined him on the north tower catwalk somewhere near midnight, and silently cast his eyes over the ocean as he waited for Ronon to speak. If he was thinking what Ronon was- that the water witnessed all their troubles- he didn't say so.

"I need tell you some things, but I'm not sure where to start." Ronon curled his hand around the railing, and released it again. It was easier to speak than he'd thought it would be, without the weight of eyes trying to pin him down. He took a deep breath and let the words come.

"I almost kissed Keller today. I don't know why." John raised an eyebrow, Ronon could see it out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't turn face him. John remained silent, waiting for him to continue, and he swallowed thickly. "Actually, I think I do. Her name was Melena, and she was the woman I was going to marry. Keller reminds me of her. A _lot_ ," he grimaced, either at John's deflation, his own words, or both. He wasn't finished.

His hands were tense against the railing again, and he brought them back, folding them against his chest, and he looked down at his foot as he kicked softly at the grate. "It's been a long time since I've known how make someone like that happy. It took me by surprise."

The words hung there, useless as the moment stretched, and Ronon tried to find something to say that would chase them down. But it was John who found them first.

"I imagine it would." John exhaled, heavily, but his sideways glance was crashing pure relief. John saw him, wasn't trying to see through him, and finally looked content with what he found. He let Ronon study him as he took a breath, evidently steeling himself to continue.

"Different circumstances- _really_ different, but I know what it's like to wonder how things could have been, wish things were better. Want to be what someone needs and know that you can't." John stumbled a bit, over his own honesty, a hand turning up to brush it away. "Don't know if that makes sense or whatever."

"It does. Thanks."

John shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders finding their level, and rocked on his heels, his voice less hesitant now. "You said _things_."

"Huh?"

"You had something else you wanted to talk to me about?" He sounded more certain now, like the shields had held and he already knew they'd live to fight another day, but Ronon his own grin falter.

"I think Lorne knows something's up."

" _Shit_." John rubbed his hand over his chin. "Has he said anything?"

"No. He just watches me like he's taking aim."

John didn't need to ask if he was certain. "Give me a chance to look into it. I've got plenty of experience hiding under the radar, but if you talk to him, you might force his hand. But let me know if something changes."

Ronon nodded. "Are we good?"

"Yeah. For now, at least, we're good."

  
 **47\. Harmony**

Lorne was still watching Ronon so intently that he didn't notice Sheppard circling.

It was a good sign. Maybe. Because if Lorne wasn't noticing Sheppard as well, it was unlikely his reasons for observation weren't the ones Ronon worried about.

But they weren't out of the woods yet, in more ways than one.

"Lorne, report back to the gate, we've got Genii closing in from the south, they're gonna be here in ten. How's your jumper?"

"Stabilization's back online, we'll be there in about two minutes, but we've got one concussion, a busted ankle, and a gunshot wound that's bleeding more than I'd like. Keep the door open for us."

"As always." Sheppard switched channels. "Atlantis, we need medical to the jumper bay. Bones, bleeding, and a head injury. They'll be through in a moment."

The jumper turned into the valley, and Sheppard saw it through before cloaking his own and taking off.  
\---

By the time he made it to the jumper bay, the injured had already been taken to the infirmary. Lorne stood in front of the back hatch, and he could see Rodney in the jumper, already running diagnostics on the stabilizers.

"Back already? We're good?" Lorne asked, stretching his back.

"The Genii took off for M1M-316. Didn't even leave a ground force. Serious injuries?"

"No. Watson got grazed pretty good. Left bicep. Nothing huge, few stitches maybe."

"Good. Seen Carter yet?"

"Was waiting for you." Lorne gestured for Sheppard to lead the way to the transporters. "We need to talk," he said, when they were alone in the hallway. "After the debriefing."

"Something I should know?"

"Something you _shouldn't_."  
\---

The meeting was thankfully brief, but Sheppard felt something twisting in his gut, even as Carter dismissed them.

"My office? Yours?" Sheppard wasn't yet if neutral ground was needed, but was no more enlightened when Lorne suggested they use Sheppard's.

The door closed, he sat down on the edge of the desk, not wanting to seem like he was hiding, and nodded to the chair, offering, not ordering. Lorne remained standing, and John wished he knew what that meant.

"What's up?"

"It's about Ronon. And you."

"About?"

"I'm not supposed talk to you in the first place, so just hear me out. I've been under orders to assess your handling of your team, especially Ronon. Is he too often out of line, or is he a risk worth keeping, should he stay on your team, should he stay in the city, are there morale issues with our guys, how likely are you to cause a fuss, how likely are you to go native, have you already. And so on."

"Really." Sheppard was calculating, but couldn't help but let a shade of annoyance through. "Is this just a courtesy, or are you going to tell me what your report says?"

"If I had concerns with how you're handling things, I would have brought them to you. I should tell you, though." Lorne looked away and back again, something shamed flickering across before neutrality took over. "I was informed that, in the event of an unfavorable report, I would probably be taking over command. That's why I'm extending the courtesy. I don't mind promotions, but _not_ political ones, and not at the expense of anyone else."

Sheppard shook his head to clear it. "I have to admit, that's a relief."

"Thought it might be. But the IOA seems to want a more active role in the expedition, and you make them nervous."

"They do nervous for a living. Any suggestions?" Lorne looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but remained silent. "Off the record as you want."

"All due respect, I'm not…I'm not offering, and I'm not asking." Lorne's face was a neutral mask, but the words were, if not invitation, recognition. Sheppard could get away with ignoring it. He probably should.

But avoidance was a poor tactic. "Are you saying that there's something you want to be asking?"

"Let's call it idle curiosity that wouldn't have been stirred were it not for my orders to spy on my own people." Lorne's features lightened as he hit on what he needed to say. "It's nothing that needs answering as long as the surface doesn't ripple too much, and nothing becomes so apparent that my report should have picked it up."  
\---

"You sure she's okay?" Ronon asked quietly, watching as Teyla forged ahead towards the remains of the Athosian settlement, her movements tense and annoyed.

"Yeah. Just wanted to spend the night. Meditate. Get away from the city."

"And you agreed to come because…?"

"Keller wouldn't let her leave without an escort."

"She doesn't want us here."

"We're going to help her set up camp, if she lets us, then we're setting up on the other edge of the settlement, so we can keep an eye on her fire, but stay the hell out of her way."

"It's cold."

"It's not that bad."

"They're showing Star Wars tonight."

" _Again_?"

"I like it."

"Chewie, you're _whining_."

Ronon scowled back at him. _Busted_.

"Look. We'll have a fire, I grabbed some beers, and we've got food. The only other person on the entire planet is Teyla, who doesn't want to see us until morning."

"Oh." Ronon fell silent, thinking. He searched out Teyla, far ahead on the trail, and hefted the pack over his shoulder before grabbing John's hand, pulling him close and kissing him on the cheek before forging ahead, bad mood apparently banished.  
\---

"Sit down. You said we weren't doing patrols tonight."

"Sorry. Habit." Sheppard sat down on the log, glancing to make sure he could still see the glow of Teyla's fire through the trees, and ignored Ronon's laughter as he passed him a beer.

One quiet hour later, John was fed up. "We could take a walk, though. Right?"

Ronon was already on his feet.  
\---

Ronon moved closer to the fire, adjusting his jacket around himself.

"You're _cold_?" John's teasing fell flat when Ronon didn't answer. "It's not that bad," he added, but perspective didn't seem to help. Ronon didn't answer that one, either. "Hey," his tone softened, and finally, Ronon was back with him, smiling, light from the fire dancing over his face. "What's up?"

"Been around McKay too long. Cold didn't used to bother me this much."

John didn't believe it, but said nothing and moved closer. When Ronon wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close, John got it.

 _It had bothered him. He just hadn't had anyone to complain to._

"She's bedding down," Ronon eventually observed, and John nodded his agreement, though he saw nothing, eyes too slow to adjust to the darkness past their fire.

"Figure we should do likewise?"

"Probably," Ronon squeezed his shoulder and started to stand up, stretching before he grabbed their bedrolls. He began to unroll the sleeping bags, laying them down, side by side, a safe distance from the fire.

Sheppard stopped him.

"No. Like this."  He unzipped his sleeping bag, and dragged Ronon's over to do the same, before zipping them together. "Wouldn't want you freezing to death.  Or sounding anything at _all_ like McKay." he reasoned, with a straight face that broke into a laugh when Ronon caught on.

They removed their boots, and Ronon spread his coat out over the sleeping bag before crawling in. A little more rearrangement, and Sheppard was half-draped over his body, pulling the edge of the sleeping blanket up close against Ronon's shoulder.

"Warm enough?"

"Yeah." He turned his head, complaints already forgotten, and found John's mouth.

Prickling stubble scratched softly through his beard as dry smooth lips brushed across his own. Once, twice, and again, and there was just the hint of wetness as John licked across and into his mouth, tasting like wood smoke and beer.

He wanted to drink it from him, taste all of it, and John let him, mouth open and lazy, cooperative against his own, head falling back, surrendering it all. Ronon brushed down to tug at his collar, stretching the material, pulling it down and away, covering the bared skin with breath and tongue.

John surged against him, tugging at his hair, fingers hot on his neck, pressing him fiercely closer. His groan was almost silent, but the vibration in his throat kissed Ronon's lips as he softened his touch.

John's hand on his elbow, now, dry sliding friction, fingernails scratching gently at the soft skin of his inner arm, sensation skittering straight to his spine, freezing the breath in his chest. The fingers trailed up his throat, tilting his head back, fingers curling up around his chin, a thumb brushing along to pull at his lower lip as their mouths converged again. John's tongue, insistent now, thrust against Ronon's as lips were captured between teeth and released again, softly, the need for breathing each other's air finally too pressing to ignore.

John's head dropped against his own, his mouth a relaxed grin against his ear as he settled against him, and Ronon was drifting before he knew it.

  
 **48\. Outcast**

John's standing on the front steps like he's forgotten he knows how to be there, and doesn't expect to be welcome.

"Come in," Dave says, stepping aside to allow John inside, wonders if John can manage to leave his awkwardness at the door. Supposes that he's being unfair. It's not all John's fault.  
 _  
But he should have come to the funeral._

"Look, ah," John starts, gearing up for the fight, and Dave tries to figure out when it was, exactly, that John decided he was the enemy, as he leads him to the kitchen. "I'm sorry I missed the funeral. I tried, but..." Dave can't hold back the snort and shakes his head, opening the cupboards and retrieving classes.

John shrugs at the disbelief in Dave's eyes and his chin juts out. "Seriously. I could have _easily_ avoided coming at all."

"So why _did_ you come?"

"Don't really know. Figured I owed you, at least. Thought maybe I could help out, but you seem to have everything under control." He's a horse ready to bolt, just waiting for an excuse to do write Dave out of his life again.

"Yeah, well. What the _hell_ do you owe any of us, John? I mean, an _explanation_ would be nice, or even a phone call, sometime, to tell us you're still alive. Until you showed up, it was anyone's guess."

"If I died, you would have been informed." John says it like he's not expecting to survive, and doesn't seem to mind.

Until now, Dave hadn't known that they were so far gone that John wouldn't expect him to mind, either. "It's not your _death_ I want to hear about, though it's good to see that your suicidal streak hasn't abated. I was worried that you might have gotten over it sometime in the past five years and I'd have to find something else to lose sleep over."

"Well, I can't tell you about my job," John's voice is just slightly more angry than monotone. "My job is pretty much my life, and the parts that aren't are the parts that you don't want to hear about."

And it's a slap in the face, but John can't see it, even as Dave's glare turns questioning.

"That's not fair. I'm _not_ dad, John. Never was. If you think I didn't have your back, it's because you wouldn't let me. But I fucking _tried_."

John sighs, finally, rubbing at his face, fight leaving his shoulders. "I know. Sorry."

"I just…" Dave trails off, moving to refill his own empty glass, topping off John's as well. "I'm sorry. It's just incredibly frustrating."

John smiles, sympathetic, enough for Dave to think that they'll get through the afternoon unscathed. "It's not great either, being on the other side of it. I really want to tell you about, well. Everything. You'd get a kick out of it." His face clouded, reality setting back in, apparently. "But people died yesterday because information got out."

John looks uncomfortably familiar with the concept, and Dave wonders how many times it's happened before. Wonders how many times John's had to kill. Too many, for a guy who just wanted to fly.

Wonders how he's taken to it. Doubts John would tell him if he asked.

"Did you get hurt?"

"Few bruises. Gonna be sore for a day or so."

"You're getting too old for that shit," Dave smirks, and is surprised by John's laugh.

"I'm just starting to get good at it." He shook his head. "Seriously. This job might kill me, but I'm not looking to let it. Got too many people depending on me."

"Ronon one of them?"

"Yeah."

"And was I reading that right, or is he just someone you work with? I don't mean to assume…"

"We're together. Sorry to spring him on you like that. He didn't really give me the option of coming alone."

"It was good of him. I'm sorry I didn't make a better impression."

"Don't apologize. And believe me, he's worse at first impressions. Table manners are pretty awful, and he beat the crap out of me the first time we met, truth be told."

"Looks like he could," Dave's eyes are laughing, even if his mouth isn't. "He seemed alright. Been together long?

"A few months. Feels like longer."

"Tell me about him."

And John's looking confused, like it's the first time he's ever had to do so, and it hurts, somehow, to remember out that it's not just his family that John's been hiding from. Like he's not the only one not watching John's back.

"He's a good man. Loyal and bullheaded all at once. Survived hell, and it didn't break him or turn him into a monster." John's blushing, saying all this out loud, but if Dave points it out, he'll stop. "Bullets won't stop him, but I worry about him anyway."

"You love him," Dave shrugs, sure that he's overstepping, but it's not like John let him negotiate any of their boundaries. He might not know John that well any more. John's looking out at the garden.

"Think I might," John admits, eventually, and Dave can see it in his eyes, and it's true. For the first time in his life, John's letting someone watch his back.

 _That_ , Dave wants to say, _is all I needed to know._  
\---

"Ronon, I just heard Sheppard wasn't coming back yet?" Carter asks, apparently expecting him to tell her that John's disappeared, never to return. "Everything alright?" she asks, already trying to read into him, and he hasn't even spoken yet.

"It's _fine_ ," he says, because he's pretty sure Sheppard would have told him were it not. He pretends not to notice everyone watching the exchange, and continues towards his quarters.  
\---

"How's he doing? Rodney pokes his head in the room, hands fluttering. "He didn't want to come back?" He looks he's just computed Worst Case Scenario #80, but Ronon's doubts that John's delay is a harbinger.

"He's _fine_ ," he says, because if he doesn't, he's only confirming the crisis.  
\---

"If you see him first," Doctor Saunders stops him in the hallway, "could you remind him that I am available if he wants to talk?"

" _Fine_ ," he says, letting the psychiatrist take it as an assent, but he understands now. They've decided that this is what will finally break John Sheppard, and now they're just waiting for the pieces to land.  
\---

He continues to the gym, where he sends Lorne to the mat a little too harshly. Lorne's standing again, catching his breath, and his eyes ask the question before he voices it. "You doin' alright?"

"I'm _fine_ ," he says, because it's not until he feels his blood cooling that he realizes it had been boiling in the first place.

Ronon's seen John mourn. Every marine. Weir. Ford. Heightmeyer. Carson, _gods, Carson_. And he'd watched him at the wake, and it wasn't like it just glanced off of him, but it wasn't winding its way through his veins like poison, either.

He's stronger than that, and they owed him more than this.  
\---

Teyla is standing in the hallway outside his room when he opens the door. "I am here to see if you prefer to remain in your quarters being angry at everyone's concern, or if you would care to eat dinner as well."

" _Fine_ ," he says, and he's whining, but he means it for the first time all day.  
\---

Sheppard steps through the gate late in the evening, and though most of the personnel have retired for the night, murmurs of his arrival spread through the city in a slow, tense wave, voices speculating quietly in the hallway outside Ronon's room.

 _He seems okay…he's not dealing with it yet…putting on a brave face…who knows what's going on there? Standing strong for morale._

He's torn between wanting to seek him out and wanting to give him space. Winds up passing down his hallway a little slower than usual in hopes that he might be caught coming or going.

John's door doesn't open.

An hour later, he still hasn't emerged, and Ronon decides he's waited long enough.

John opens the door, already dressed for bed, and stands in the doorway looking a bit dazed, but not as shaken as everyone wanted to believe. He steps back, making room for Ronon to enter, and the door closes behind him as he follows.

He steps towards him, raising his arms, and John allows the embrace that follows, not shrinking into it, but leaning towards him, accepting, and Ronon sighs.

"How're you doing?"

"I'm tired. Little bummed out, a little not." He shrugs. "Don't really know."

"Sorry you missed the funeral."

"It's all right. At least you got to see a little more of the planet. It's not all underground bunkers, hotels and Canada."

"Yeah, you've got shipping yards, too. _Very_ impressive."

He presses a brief kiss to John's forehead, and John's laugh becomes a yawn. Ronon almost doesn't want to change the subject. "So, did everything get settled at home?"

Sheppard pulls back a little to look at him, eyes more closed than open. "It will be. In the morning." He doesn't elaborate, and Ronon doesn't push.

John backs towards the bed, and it's all still new, but Ronon guesses that John would tell him if he wanted to be alone. He kicks his boots off before lying down next to him. He allows his hand to press into John's hip, undemanding, there if he needs it, just solid pressure that eases them into sleep.  
\---

It's early- too early, even- when Ronon wakes up to elbow being planted into his gut. John's already stirring, attempting to clamber up from the loose-limbed sprawl he'd fallen into during the night. John's eyes aren't completely open yet, but he manages to mostly evade the swat Ronon aims at his head.

"Sorry," John apologizes unrepentantly, and leans in to dust a quick kiss over his closed lips. "Still need to brush my teeth. But I forgot to do that last night." And he's bouncing himself out of bed like he already knew what the day would bring.  
\---

Teyla sends him to retrieve Sheppard for lunch, and he finds him standing watch over the gate room, where boxes and cargo containers are being deposited on the floor in a flurry of activity.

"Supplies? Thought the Daedalus isn't due for two weeks." Ronon looks again, and notices that it doesn't appear to be just another resupply. "And how did you get them to sign off on two carts full of pizza?"

"They were feeling very generous for once," Sheppard says, aloud, watching the marines pushing the cart past. A minute later, and he's pulling Ronon aside, quiet now, admitting the truth. "Had to buy some for the SGC, too."

"You paid for all of this?"

"Turns out my dad left me some money I'm not planning on needing," is all the explanation Sheppard gives him, because he's already on the radio, calling in more people to help.

They spend the rest of the day unpacking. Clothing. Beer. Blankets. Books. Jars of baby food and diapers. Movies, CDs, and video games. Medical supplies. Something called a Tampax. Lots of coffee. Soap. Junk food. Seeds.

"This is insane," Carter tries to complain, but she's sounding too happy to pull it off, even as she dodges out of the path of an overloaded scientist. "It's like Christmas!"

"More like moving day," Sheppard retorts, stacking another case onto the cart, but to Ronon, it sounds less like a joke, and more like a decision.

  
 **49\. Trio**

"So what are we even _doing_ out here?" Ronon wasn't interested in the wares on offer, another collection of shining useless trinkets laid out on the market stall's table.

"We are…having absolutely no luck whatsoever finding Teyla's local contact, and preparing to call this one."

"And yet, here we are," Ronon grumbled into the dusty air, scanning the crowd in habitual assessment and finding nothing unusual. A group of teenage girls ran, giggling, towards a stall on the west side of the avenue, kicking up more dust than the boys that followed.

"We'll be out of here as soon as Varner checks back in," John reasoned, picking up a rattle and wondered what kind of toys Athosian kids played with. It would be a few years, he figured, before Teyla's baby was running around in wraith masks, but maybe that was something they should think-

 _Ronon's gone._

John knew it before he turned around, hand reaching for his P90 before it was confirmed.

His hand flew to his radio, tapping it onto the open channel.

"Ronon, come in," he said, not having the time to look apologetic at the startled passerby.  
"Ronon, this is Sheppard. Report."

Nothing.

"Anybody have visual?"

Varner's voice came through. "He just turned a corner at the east side of the market, walking pretty fast. Looked spooked. We're already on it."

"On my way."

Sheppard turned the corner, trying Ronon on the radio once again, but he caught sight of Varner's team, and they were slowing down.

"We've got him, heading towards the gate."

Sheppard spotted him, then, towering above most of the walking crowd, about ten yards from the gate, coming to a halt.

Sheppard increased his pace until he drew near, not wanting to startle him, and nodded back towards Varner to hold back.

Ronon was staring at the collapsing event horizon, paying no mind as an old man stepped up to the DHD and began dialing out. He likewise paid no mind to Sheppard's scrutiny, a neutral mask sliding down over his features just as Sheppard was beginning to identify what he'd seen there.

"Ronon?" Sheppard was pretty sure he'd never master being stern and nonthreatening at the same time. "What's up? See something?"

"No."

Sheppard wanted to deck him, but the other team was approaching. "Varner's here. Let's head back." He hadn't realized he'd been waiting for Ronon to disobey until he started walking.

 _Something could have been released in the air. There could be a threat here. Maybe we should stay_. But unless Ronon opened up, and it didn't look like that was going to happen, the only strange and worrying thing this planet had on offer was Ronon.

Sheppard couldn't be sure why Ronon still wasn't making eye contact, why he barely registered that he wasn't alone, or why he was scowling so deeply.

"All right," he addressed the group. "Let's head back and shower. Ronon, you're either going to tell me what the hell that was about right _fucking_ now, or you're going straight to Keller."

"Thought I saw my mother," Ronon said, disbelief giving way to confusion and then knowing disappointment, until the gate engaged, and he shook his head, mask firmly replaced, and walked through.

Sheppard saw the Varner's team through the gate first and cast a last glance over the village before stepping through. It wouldn't help to rush. He knew Ronon would be long gone by the time he'd made it through the other side.  
\---

He was relieved that Carter had just stepped out with McKay and Keller to check out the tremors on M5V-801; she wouldn't be there to see anything strange. On the other hand, it meant that he was in charge of handling Lorne's team's debriefing, the last thing he was interested in doing after stepping out of the shower.

Rolling up his sleeves on his way into the conference room, Lorne seemed to notice that something was off, and made his report short.

"Uneventful. They're interested in trading out some grain, but they want to send some representatives through to check out the medical facilities first. Just like we thought."

Sheppard nodded, entered the notes in the system, and uploaded them, mind already one level and seventeen doors down the hallway as he dismissed the men. On his way out the door, he checked the schedule and saw that they had two hours before Carter would be checking in.

He paused outside the doorway, listening to the chime fade out, and decided to override the locking commands. He wasn't thrilled about it, but Varner's team had seen Ronon break contact, and, like it or not, he had to deal with this.

Ronon was sitting on his bed, back against the wall and staring off into nothing, but they moved, surprisingly, and tracked John's progress as he drew near, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"You okay?" he offered, and was relieved to see Ronon's answering nod, until it threatened to turn into a sob. Gasping, Ronon hung his head, dreadlocks swinging into his face as he took a deep, calming breath.

"Yeah."

John wasn't sure what to do, but he was too tired to say so. "Take a shower. I'll be here when you're done. Unless you want me gone?"

"Don't want you gone. I just need to think." Ronon decided, standing up, and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.  
\---

"Hey," Ronon came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, looking a thousand times clearer. Whether it was the dirt that had been sluiced away, or the time to get himself back under control, John couldn't tell. "Sorry about that.  Earlier."

"It's all right, under the circumstances. That's one hell of a shock." John ducked his head, pretending not to check out Ronon's bare torso. They had to finish this conversation first, before he could move on, and he had no idea if Ronon was at all in the mood.

"It wasn't her. She was in the market, the last day. Everyone there died."

"Are you sure?"

Ronon nodded and sat down on the floor, against Sheppard's legs. He was close enough that John could smell the Athosian soap he used. "Saw someone who looked like her. Wanted it to be her. Used to happen a lot." His head tipped forward again as John rubbed lazily at his shoulders. "Besides, if she was still alive, Tyre would have told me so. He had contacts. They all did. One of them would have said something."

"Tyre's insane. He's a wraith-worshipper."

"Even more so. You're trying to get someone to join you, what do you give them?"

"Whatever they want," John agreed, ruefully. "You said that used to happen a lot?"

"Yeah. First few years I was running. Then I started to forget what people looked like, and it went away."

"That sucks."

"It helped, actually. Harder to miss someone if you don't remember them," and Ronon's voice was stronger now, sounding bored with the subject. He tipped his head up to see John's face and grinned. "What time is Carter checking in?"

John glanced down Ronon's body again, letting himself get caught this time. "Gotta be out there in half an hour," he admitted ruefully.

"Oh," Ronon frowned, sagging just the tiniest bit and trying to pout. "That sucks."

John shoved Ronon's shoulders forward and slid down behind him, pushing his hair away from his neck as he did so. "For me, maybe a little. For you, not so much," he reasoned, pressing a kiss behind Ronon's ear as he slid his arms under Ronon's, brushing across his chest.

Ronon's head rolled back against John's shoulder, almost relaxed, and John traveled down, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. His fingertips slid sliding over tightening muscles, low on Ronon's stomach, and were caught against the tight skin there when Ronon's hand moved to catch his.

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up, we're on the clock here," he muttered, shoving his hands down to dislodge the towel before wrapping unerringly around Ronon's hardening cock.

"Okay," Ronon relented, trying to relax against him again, maintaining his hold on the hand resting on his stomach. "Better get to it, then."

He pulled up, slowly, dragging at the skin just a little as he cupped the tip before sliding back down, Ronon's legs parting slightly to allow him better access. John lowered his knees and brought them up again underneath Ronon's thighs, the towel slowing them down a bit as Ronon's legs slid open.

John's fingers wandered the crease of Ronon's thighs, damp with shower and sweat, and back up again, fingertips smoothing along the shaft and back down, setting a pace that was just a little slower than what Ronon needed.

Not that he didn't seem to appreciate it. His mouth was closed against the moans that threatened to escape, but John could feel them trying. His fingers unwrapped themselves, skittering lower to brush over Ronon's sac, and underneath, causing Ronon to jump, to release his hold on sound. John froze.

"You _giggled_ ," he teased, tilting his head against Ronon's.

"You _stopped_ ," growled Ronon, but he turned his head at an awkward angle to kiss John into continuing.

For a minute, it didn't work, John's hands coming up to hold Ronon in place, but soon they were traveling again, teasing at nipples and scratching across skin on their way back down.

Ronon's mouth was wide and wet against his, letting John lick into him, until John slid down again, thumb slicking over the crown and pressing against the slit. Ronon's mouth went slack, distracted, and John released it, pressing teeth against Ronon's jaw as he eased back, remembered to breathe.

He resumed the pace he'd broken, stripping against Ronon's cock, and brought his other hand to cup the sac, rolling the flesh slightly, a finger coming underneath to rub maddeningly at the silky skin behind, a teasing counterpoint that grew more insistent as John felt Ronon starting to lose it.

Ronon moaned, breath hitching into a whining sigh, and every muscle in his body went tight, holding against the onslaught, until he gasped for breath once more and started to come, tense muscles lost to release.

John wrapped himself around Ronon's arms, pressing them against his sides, holding him together as their breathing returned to normal. Ronon settled against him, almost purring, eyes closed, opening only when John flipped an edge of the towel back over his chilled skin, wiping him down.

"You'd better go," Ronon murmured, eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"I've got six more minutes."

Ronon nodded sleepily, dreads scraping against his face.

"Got tonight, if you want it, too."

  
 **50\. Midway** (a "Five Things" Thing)

1\. _I hate leaving you._ Because it was so true it was frightening.

2\. _Teal'c is a jackass._ Because that guy could probably hear around corners and through walls.

3\. _I love you_. Because even _he_ knew how to pick his moments, sometimes. 

4\. _You bet on a draw!_? That would have started a fight. Probably would at some point anyhow.

  
5\. "I hate you," Ronon said, because there were things that he couldn't say, not there in the gate room.

\---

1\. _I'm glad you're not dead_. Because he'd been afraid, and should have known better, and hated himself for it.

2\. _You should have tortured Kavanaugh when you had the chance_. Because the guy could speak through walls, and could probably hear through them too.

3\. _I_ _love you._ Because if Ronon wasn't ready to hear it, Lorne definitely didn't need to.

4\. _By the way, your sparring match? I bet on a draw_. Didn't need to say it, because Ronon probably already knew, and would kick his ass for it anyway.

  
5\. "What's not to like?" Sheppard said, because there were things that you didn't say, not there in the 302 bay.   
\---

The good spirits had lasted the rest of the day.  Sheppard hadn't realized how much he'd missed talking to people who weren't scientists.  But they fell silent as they walked to the quarters that they'd be sharing. By the time the door had closed, it had all fallen apart.

"So…" John didn't know if he or Ronon should have been the one talking, but figured someone should, whether they liked it or not. "How did you convince them not to blow up the SGC?"

"It was easy. I talked to O'Neill. He said they'd been through worse. That true?"

"Yeah. They had."

"Then why were they so quick to give up on their own people?"

"The IOA is cautious. Can't really blame them, but I'm glad you got it handled. You did good."

"I know. You too."

"No. We lost twelve men. And the entire station. Not good."

"But you got McKay and the others out."

"I know."

"It could have been worse."

"Not by much."

"I'm just saying, it could have been _you_." Ronon stood up, turned away, taking off his knives. "There were some problems in the infirmary here, so Carter was going over the plans to deal with putting your body in one of the cafeteria freezers. She told me that even _that_ was being optimistic. That we shouldn't get our hopes up, because there probably wouldn't be anything to recover."

"I know. She mentioned it when I told her there was nothing to recover of  the ones we _did actually_ _lose_."

"Yeah, but…" Ronon sighed, glanced at Sheppard. "I should have been there."

"If you hadn't been where you'd been, with Teal'c, then two or three _hundred_ of my people would have been nuked, and the wraith would be setting up shop on Earth by now. So, it's not _great_ , but it could have been a _lot_ worse. So you just shut up about it for a while? I haven't slept in a bed in almost two weeks now, and I'm _really_ fucking tired."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Just so long's you know."

"Know what?" Sheppard was about to snap,  and Ronon backed up.

"Um. That I was worried. Because. You know. I…" Ronon shrugged, biting his lip, eyes darting away. "You should get some sleep."

"You too. C'mere."

John wasn't smiling- neither of them were- and it was going to be all fear-sweat and exhaustion, shoulder's that wouldn't relax, but he pulled Ronon down into the lower bunk with him, and _finally_ kissed him hello.

  
 **51\. The Kindred, part 1**

When Ronon had first come to Atlantis, he'd had to learn to walk again. Cultivating silence had been no trouble out in the world, because nature was never silent. The city was nothing like nature, but most days he forgot about it. Voices in the gate room, radios going off, peals of laughter from down the hall, pots clanging in the kitchen proved that Atlantis was alive.

But some days, it was solid, mute metal, and didn't seem to breathe. The city was holding its breath now, waiting for Keller's results.

 _It can't be Beckett_ , he tried not to think. _Beckett is dead._

His next step echoed in the hallway and he slowed his momentum. _Listen. Breathe._

He'd waited in the observation room with the others, trying to decide if this Carson Beckett was the same man that had pulled trackers and bullets out of his body. The same man he owed his life to three times over. He didn't even know what he wanted to believe.

Ronon didn't believe in ghosts, and wanted to ask Teyla about omens, but her absence answered his questions just as plainly. If this was an omen, then some great loss was coming their way- beyond the Athosians, beyond Teyla. Like this was the setup for some sort of trade, and he was already running out of people to stand with.

He knew, somehow, that he would be left to fight alone, again. That, at least, he could prepare for. So he walked, and tried not to think about anything but silence.

His new boots fit properly, and they weren't stolen off a dead man, but they made his steps loud. They made the floors feel strange, as if he was being suddenly forced to pay attention to something that had been there the entire time. They didn't feel right. He wondered if John or Lorne noticed how strange the floor felt. If such a small detail really could change the entire perception of reality.

Turning around another corner, he tried to remember what it felt like not knowing that three doors down the hall was the reading library. Another turn, and he'd be passing the transporter. He knew now that he could take it back to the infirmary, then go down another corridor to the observation room, where the rest of the team- the _remnants_ of the team- still waited for the results.

He turned left instead, and went down the stairs, stopping to listen. There was no one here, no one to hear him, and he surprised himself by relaxing, just a little.

The sun had almost set, the light was coming in pink through the windows, and he went down another hallway, trying to decide if it was time to rearrange the knives in his hair. The bands were growing out and some of the blades were starting to clink together.

Soon, there was nothing there but his breath and his steps, and he supposed that it was what meditation was supposed to feel like.

He was so focused on quieting his motion that when he came around the corner and saw the women, he was as startled as they were. He tried stepping back as the women broke their kiss and jumped quickly apart, but it was a useless gesture.

Captain Alicia Vega's eyes flashed at him, terrified, before trying for neutral. It wasn't surprising. She was a capable fighter, as long as her opponent didn't look her in the eyes. They gave every move away, and Ronon guessed it couldn't be trained out of her. Not at this point, though it didn't stop him from trying. Besides, if Sheppard was correct, her best fighting was done from the cockpit of an F302.

Amelia Banks, on the other hand, who usually had a better sense of humor than most of the other gate techs, was surprisingly cold and calculating, already trying to uncover the reason for his trespassing.

Ronon spoke first. "Sorry. Didn't know anyone was down here," he raised his hands, and took another step back, without being entirely sure why he did so.

 _Because you're not supposed to be here, and you know it._

"Either did _we_." Banks smirked, the dare still in her eyes, as she shifted, just a little bit, subtly placing herself between Vega and the threat he represented, but she said nothing more.

Ronon nodded once and began again down the hallway, his footsteps deliberately loud, trying to prove to the women that he was leaving.

It felt more like he was trying to announce to the city that he belonged there, but he doubted Atlantis believed it.  
\---

Banks found him on his way to dinner, and something was different.  Smiling, embarrassed and hopeful, she was nothing at all like the woman he'd met in the hallway hours before.

"Um, Ronon? Got a second?"

 _No_ , he wanted to say, because he had already catalogued that look in her eye- he'd seen it on a few other faces in the previous hours as people finally began to sort out what they thought of Beckett's return. He wasn't sure if he envied their optimism, or pitied it, but he was already tired of seeing it. _They're just setting themselves for a harder fall._

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to apologize about earlier. Didn't mean to be such a bitch. You just startled us."

"It's okay," he said, and began walking again. She stepped into his path with a put-upon sigh, and almost rolled her eyes.

"I, um. Look. I know you're friends with Colonel Sheppard. Have you told him about what you saw?"

"Haven't seen him yet, but I don't know what there is to tell him."

"Could you please not tell him anything? I don't want to make any assumptions about what you know, but Vega can get in a lot of trouble, and the woman can fly runs on hive ships, but she's in her room freaking-"

"It's okay." Ronon glanced down the hallway. No one was within earshot. "You don't have to worry about Sheppard. And I'm not going to tell anyone. But be careful. And tell Vega to relax, but to watch her eyes. She'll know what I mean."

Banks smiled at that. "Thanks, I owe you one. We _both_ do." and she was off again, back towards the control room.

  
 **52\. The Kindred, part 2**

It was like some big cosmic error- maybe literally, if McKay was to be believed. It was a strange re-casting of his life, and someone had made a mistake. Teyla was supposed to come back with them. Not Carson. And Sheppard knew it was shitty to think like that, but he'd been to the funeral. It felt like Carson Beckett was some consolation prize, set and rigged to blow up in their faces.

 _He's already done that. This time, we froze him. Burning up, or fading away, which is worse?_

John struck the heavy bag again, wishing it would shatter, and attacked again, from the left this time. He pretended not to notice Ronon entering the gym, and that he didn't know Ronon's steps were more wary than usual.

Ronon spoke first. "Want to spar?"

John tried not to glare at him, unsure if he'd managed. _I want to draw blood, and I know you'd let me have yours. Back off._ "No. Thanks."

"Okay." Ronon stepped back, towards the other side of the room, where he picked up a pair of bantos sticks and began working through the forms.

John pretended not to notice, but he could see Ronon's heart wasn't in it, and he couldn't understand why Ronon of all people would just go through the motions. And then he figured it out, when he caught Ronon watching him in the mirror on the far wall.

 _He's here because you are_.

John could tolerate the scrutiny for only so long, before finally having to ask. "You want to talk?"

Ronon shrugged. "Do you?"

"No." The anger hadn't burned out of him yet, but he tried not to fire it in Ronon's direction, softening the words with a half-smile and a shrug. Ronon nodded, replacing the bantos rods, like he'd been caught.

"Can you come over tonight?" Ronon was watching him like he'd rather be looking anywhere but at him.

"Your room?" He'd never spent the night in Ronon's room, he realized, and it didn't matter, never had, but he was starting to think that maybe it did.

 _Tonight, at least. Tonight, it matters._

"Yeah." Ronon sounded like he was fed up, or tired, and John nodded, quickly, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. He needed to get his own head together before he could deal with Ronon's.

"Maybe later? After I finish here?"

Ronon's monotone was even more curt than usual. "Stop before you split your knuckles." He was about to say something, and evidently decided to say something else. "See you later," he said, not sounding like he cared whether he did or not, and then he was out the door, trailing obvious frustration in his wake.

And John wanted to follow, he really did, but Carson's ghost was with them, closer than ever, and as much as John had missed the man, he was tired of mourning him. They'd been given a second chance, and though they'd found the Athosians, it felt like they'd blown it. Like he was back in Scotland, watching Ronon walk away, and John didn't know where he was supposed to stand.

But he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel like this.

John punched at the bag barehanded until his hands hurt, and then continued, bloodying three fingers before finally stepping back from the fight, only he suspected it wasn't over yet.  
\---

He wasn't sure if he was going to go, and then he wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he got there. When Ronon opened the door, he likewise searched John's face for some sort of clue. Neither of them had a plan.

"You feeling better?" Ronon's eyebrow's quirked as he waved John inside. An unspoken _I didn't think you would come_ hung in the air as John stepped through the door, though the glare Ronon shot at his bandaged fingers was loud enough to make up for it.

"Yeah. Sorry about earlier. How're you?"

"Tired of all of this."

John stood at attention, even if he didn't realize it. "Of what, exactly?"

Ronon shook his head, moving into John's space, not yet touching. They weren't there yet. "Losing people. Finding them. Trying to figure where everyone stands before it all goes to hell again. Just…tired of it."

John nodded, relieved, and reached out to brush a hand over the skin of Ronon's arm, grasping slightly. "Me too." _Tired of everything but you, even when you're like this_ , he wanted to add, but didn't.

Ronon nodded, leaning into the apology for a minute, before raising his hands to John's shoulders, the warm pressure a welcome grounding. "Can you stay the night?"

"Yeah. You want to crash?"

Ronon glanced towards the bed and back at John, a little less uncertain. "Yeah."

"Cool."

They stripped out of their clothing and crawled into bed, Ronon dragging the blanket up over them. It was softer than it had looked, until Ronon turned the light off, and in the dark, it was just soft.

John lay back and let Ronon snake an arm under his neck, let him curl against his side, felt his chest against his bicep. Subtle shifting, sinking into place, and they were at rest, taking each others attendance through their skin, each making sure that the other had not been lost.

When they kissed, it was slow and cautious, and John wondered if he tasted as exhausted as Ronon did. Wondered if Ronon knew how close they'd come to fighting over nothing at all and if he'd worried about what they could have lost.

Ronon took the hand that wasn't pinned between them and kissed the bandages there, and it felt like forgiveness. When it was released, John wound his fingers into Ronon's dreadlocks, brushing against the nape of his neck, the edge of the bandage rasping softly against the skin and back again, until Ronon's breathing evened out.

John lay awake for some time, listening lazily to the sounds that Atlantis made. Footsteps in the hallway sounded a little different, and he knew it was because of slight variations in the dimensions and construction materials of the walls and floor, but it felt like a different world altogether. Like the rest of the city and all of the bullshit didn't exist, and wouldn't, not until morning.

  
 **53\. The Last Man**

Seven days. Seven fucking days, and still no leads. First Teyla, and then Carson, and now John. At least when Teyla went missing, he had someone to share his worry with. Now even that was gone.

Ronon made it back to his quarters, exhausted though he'd done nothing more than pace around McKay's periphery all day long, wishing there was anything he could do to help, besides keeping the coffee coming. Same as yesterday.

Only today, on the way back to his rooms, he'd paused outside Sheppard's door and tapped it with a knuckle, trying to remember if it felt any different than the hundreds of other times where he'd been expecting an answer. Tonight, he didn't even stop. Just kept walking.

And now, he was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, staring at an inconsequentially blank span of wall, and trying to convince himself it was just because he was tired and had to get up early in the morning to go to another fucking planet and maybe luck into a week old clue. He wasn't even sure if it was Teyla or John they'd be searching for on M71-whatever-it-was.

He'd never told John anything, not really, because he hadn't known what to say, and now, standing alone in his room and facing a wall that was equally silent, he knew- for a fact- that his silence was to blame, and that he was losing his family all over again. That he'd ignored the omens, and probably lost the man he loved.

And there it was, and it shouldn't have felt so overwhelming, but it left him reeling.

He stood frozen, towel in hand, for a very long time, before moving towards the shower.

He glanced at the clock as he passed. It was just after midnight.

Eight days. Eight fucking days, and still no leads.  
\---

He lurked in the doorway, watching McKay work for hours, but didn't expect him to have a solution anymore. At least he was still trying. He would stand sentinel until McKay stopped.

The rest of the city stopped looking at him like he didn't belong. They stopped looking at him at all, like they didn't want the reminder of those that they'd lost.

He felt the city shrinking, beginning to feel less substantial. More temporary. And he started looking at the gate like it represented some sort of answer.  
\---

Eleven days. Eleven _fucking_ days. One Satedan _week_ since John stepped through the gate without him, and _still_ no leads.

He had nothing to say, and no one to say it to. Not even McKay, whose hopeless monotone had run out of desperate ideas to bounce off of him days before.

Ronon had one idea, one that was becoming a plan, but he couldn't tell McKay.

In one month, one Satedan month, they would find Teyla, and they would find John. Or Ronon would leave Atlantis.  
\---

Twelve days, and he wanted to keep running, but even the distant edge of the northwestern pier was nowhere near far enough.

He stared out over the ocean, and pretended not to notice that the shadow of the main tower still touched him.

" _There_ you are," a voice called, obscenely cheerful, like a child playing a game, from several yards away.

"Huh?" He turned to see Banks coming towards him, looking out of breath.

"Been looking all over for you. Forgot your radio again?"

"Might have forgotten to turn it on," he grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes as he stood, turning to face her. "What is it?"

"Colonel Sheppard is back. He knows where to find Teyla. You're missing the briefing right now, but you should be able to catch them in the locker-"

Ronon was already moving past her, but a few yards up the pier, he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder, and he couldn't figure out why she was looking at him like she didn't recognize him. "You remember that thing you thought you owed me for?"

"Yeah?" She crossed her arms and raised a brow.

"The debt's paid. Thanks." and he grinned again, and took off, running back towards the city.

  



	4. Chapter 4

**54\. Search and Rescue**

  
He hurt, but John _was_ hurt. They were trapped, and he wasn't sure when or if help was going to arrive. He'd been unable to free Sheppard. And now the hybrids were coming for them, Sheppard was losing steam, and they were most likely about to die, but…

He'd go out fighting at John's side. It wasn't what he wanted, but really, he'd never expected things to turn out otherwise. It was the best death he could wish for.

Unless he got a lucky shot in. He looked up, tried to decide where the hybrids would break through, and wondered how much cover the beam that pinned Sheppard would provide.

"Shoot until we can't shoot anymore," was Sheppard's plan. Not the best plan, but Ronon already knew it was the only one left, just like he knew that he would still be firing shots long after John ran out of ammunition.

Just like he knew that he'd have to fight for the both of them, and that he would survive longer, but eventually fall, depending on how outnumbered he was. But he could make a stand, even if he was down on his knees.

 _So be it._

"It's been a pleasure," John sounded a little too much like he'd already given up, and Ronon was overcome with his defeat. He'd have to _hope_ for both of them as well. Swallowing down the furious anger the realization brought, he chanced a glance at John.

Ronon flashed back to standing alone in his room, eight days alone and faithless.

He thought of several other sure deaths, all worse than this.

 _So be it._

He watched John watching the entry and hefting the gun in his hands, listening to the hybrids moving closer through the debris. His eyes didn't waver. His breathing was steady.

His hope had faded, but not his resolve. Sheppard could stand too, even when pinned on his back, waiting for the world to take a last shot at him.

"Same."

He took aim, and ignored the dust falling into his eyes.  
\---

 _You should have left when you had the chance._

"Shoot until we can't shoot anymore," John said, because he knew Ronon would do so anyway. All he could do now was spend his last clip and last few minutes trying to save Ronon's insubordinately stupid loyal life.

 _I'm sorry I got you into this_.

He wished he could've turned his head that last nth of a degree to look at Ronon, but I love you would have sounded trite. He wouldn't distract his own heart from the fight, and couldn't risk doing the same to Ronon. Instead he said, "It's been a pleasure."

"Same," Ronon replied, voice hoarse and dry and certain, and Sheppard could sense when Ronon stopped looking at him. They set their sights up above, waiting for the coming attack, and he readjusted his grip on the gun.

Ronon had to fight, and to survive.

 _I'm sorry I can't get you out of this. But you aren't supposed to die_.

A little more dust fell into his face, and he fought to keep his eyes focused, and his thoughts off how badly the next few minutes would play out.  
\---

Ronon paced outside the infirmary, more angry than worried, and tried not to watch the clock, in between glances through the observation window.

 _Three hours and twenty minutes ago._

Ronon was allowed into the infirmary to look in on Teyla, dozing off with her son in her arms, and saw the curtain drawn around Sheppard's bed. He strained to listen to Keller and one of the other doctors discuss the procedure in hushed tones, and imagined John, lying in the bed, half awake and probably hearing as little of it as Ronon did.

From the next room, he heard Lorne arguing, demanding crutches, and growling that there was no way in hell he was going on leave just yet. That he'd take care of himself, but he was going to wait for news on Sheppard.

Lorne paused as he passed, looking at the curtained bed, and shared an annoyed grimace with Ronon, asking him to radio with any news.

 _Three hours and seven minutes ago._

Keller came out from behind the curtain, already discussing the setup for the operating room, pausing when she saw him. She offered him a vague assurance that would have worked better coming from a less-worried expression, before telling him he'd be less in the way in the observation room.

He went slowly, and tried to look back, to catch John's eye as the curtain opened, but Sheppard was already pulling out his video game. He never looked up, and Ronon felt like an idiot for trying.

 _Two hours ago._

John was rolled into the operating room, and Ronon, from his godlike perch, watched him climb onto the table under his own power. The sedatives worked quickly, though, and the surgery was finally underway. Doctors moved systematically around him, practiced and controlled.

Carter slid in next to him at the window, and was careful to offer more congratulations than sympathies. Condolences would be admitting something was wrong.

He couldn't pace while she was there- he didn't want to give her the indication that he worried, but let her ask him about the mission, asked him what he thought about it. Her eyes never left the scene below, and it was the first conversation they'd ever had that didn't feel like an inquisition.

 _One hour and thirty-six minutes ago._  

Keller lunged back towards the table as machines beeped sudden alarms, audible even through the glass. Ronon's breath caught, wondered if John could feel anything, if he was horrifically aware. If he knew something was wrong.

 _Fifty-seven minutes ago._

Keller came up the steps, entering the room as if she expected to see someone else waiting there, and he couldn't tell if she was disappointed by finding Ronon, or finding _only_ Ronon.

She wouldn't look at him straight on, but said that they were transferring him to another bed, and that he'd wake in half an hour or so. That Sheppard wouldn't be released for at least several days, and finally- _finally_ \- that he was going to be just fine.

 _Fifty-three minutes ago_.

Keller disappeared, and Ronon watched her reappear below. She looked tired, like this had taken more out of her than it was supposed to, and instead of irritation, he felt sympathy. The doctors transferred Sheppard to a gurney, and Keller began the cleanup.

 _Twenty minutes ago._

He was staring at the floor of the hallway outside the infirmary, hands in pockets, when the door swooshed open and Keller emerged again, this time with her usual optimistic energy.

"Have you been here the entire time?" She looked at him directly, for the first time in what felt like weeks, and smiled like she didn't need an answer, so Ronon didn't bother confirming. "I'm glad," was all she said, after holding his gaze just a little too long, and he was equally ashamed and relieved when she began to move towards the transporter.

She turned back, adding an afterthought. "They should have him ready in a little bit, check in with Ryerson on your way in to make sure." As she stepped around the corner, he was suddenly certain that in some other life, he would have been standing in the hallway waiting for her, instead of watching her pass by.

 _Sixteen minutes ago._

He stood at the foot of John's bed, trying to silence the already quiet sounds of the now- calm infirmary, and trying to put thoughts to what he saw.

Sheppard was a little pale, with too many wires connecting him to machines that Ronon would never understand, but he was whole, and he was breathing. He didn't look at all like he'd just risked an unreasonable amount of his own life to fulfill a promise.

And while Ronon could respect that, he wished he could see some hint of recognition, indication that John knew how close he'd come. Maybe John could afford another promise- that it would never happen again. But John slept, oblivious to his surroundings, and if he'd been awake, Ronon wouldn't have believed any promise he made.

They had found Teyla and her son. They had brought them home. Lorne had a broken leg, and John was alive. It was a win.

He just wished he hadn't seen the panic flitting across Keller's face, hadn't heard those alarms, hadn't felt that moment of knowing that their luck had already been stretched far beyond their means. Wished Sheppard would just open his eyes, already.

 _Now._

As soon as Dr. Keller was finished yelling at them both, or maybe later, when he got Sheppard back to his quarters, he would take over the argument from there. But not in front of her.

In the meantime, however, he was torn, between wanting to agree with Keller, even though part of him wanted to stand up for himself (he'd had Sheppard's back, he wouldn't have let him die, and they _did_ get Teyla and her son back…) and wanting John to really hear it.

As Keller ranted at the both of them, he watched John. He was tired, he was stressed, and at the moment, he was glaring at the infirmary door, trying to ignore the both of them. He was probably planning his first escape attempt already.

"You're not getting out of here for at least three days," Keller intoned, her voice less amused than it had been the first three times she'd said so, and not lightening any as she again turned her attention to Ronon. "And _you're_ not going to encourage him."

"Course not," Ronon agreed, glaring sternly at Sheppard.

" _Right_." Sheppard rolled his eyes, and not even Ronon knew who the recipient was meant to be. Keller smirked, and accepted a data pad from Dr. Ryerson.

Keller's lecture- macho idiocy, falling buildings, and traipsing about wraith cruisers- even for a noble cause- finally ended when she left. It left a glaring hole in the room where something had to be said, something had to be done. It didn't look like John was going to start any time soon.

Ronon pulled the curtain closed while Sheppard shifted in the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable.

It might have been the drugs that put the serene look on his face, but John was in one piece. The entire team was fine, and Ronon was finally starting to believe it. John was looking at him for the first time in fifteen minutes, more self-satisfied and smug than anyone in a hospital bed had a right to be. Ronon rolled his eyes and looked back at the curtain.

John spoke, less self-assured now, quiet. "I'm sorry, you know. I know I went a little crazy out there, and risked everyone else, too. Thanks for staying sane, and not kicking my ass about this until tomorrow, maybe?"

Ronon sat carefully down on the edge of the bed, leaning gently against the hand that came up to touch the small of his back, closed his eyes, and decided that the argument could wait for a night when he wasn't just so damned _relieved_.

  
 **55\. The Seed**

John woke up to see Ronon sitting by the side of his bed, bent over something in his lap. He was…sewing. John started to make a joke, but the tension around Ronon's eyes, and the bruising around his throat, took the wind out of his sails.

Ronon knew- of _course_ he knew- he was being watched, but he continued to sew, tying off the knot before looking up, apparently finished. He handed the black material to John.

It was the shirt he'd been wearing when he'd gotten stabbed, but the hole had been patched. With Kevlar, apparently, and who knows where Ronon scrounged that from.

"I'm _not_ running around wearing freaking body armor all day long," he grumbled, but smiled at Ronon's unrepentant smirk. It broke into a hitch and a grimace as he rose up to set the shirt down, and Ronon was leaning over him, shoving him gently back against the mattress.

 _Let me see_ , Ronon didn't say, pulling up at the hem of Sheppard's shirt, uncovering the startlingly bright bandages there.

"It's fine." Fingers brushed gently over the site of the wound. Sheppard laughed a little, not so much that it hurt, but Ronon glanced up to confirm anyway, before sliding his hand down two inches to prod at the recently-healed scar. "Almost in the same spot, I know."

 _You crashed a jumper. On purpose_ , Ronon accused, tightening his glare as he aimed it at John.

"What else what I supposed to do?" John shook his head, and Ronon's eyes found his, somehow managing to match his harsh tone. He sighed. "Can we please not do this again?"

 _You firs_ t. A challenge, but Sheppard wasn't supposed to rise to meet it. Wasn't supposed to sound so annoyed- so angry- when he responded. "Right. I know. Tell you what," he wheezed, "I promise not to do my job ever again. There. You happy?" He snorted, and dropped his head back down on the pillow.

 _This is my home, just as much as it is yours. Your people became mine a long time ago. But if you're gone, I'm right behind you, so if you'd at least try not to risk it, I'd really appreciate it, you stubborn bastard._

He figured that John couldn't read the expression on his face, and only then realized he'd been expecting him to. He rose again, watching the curtain shift gently, still that same wan shade of blue, but they were still alone, and he turned back to the bed.

He wondered if his frustration sounded as loud in the room as it did in his head. He glanced back at John, found him watching him, trying too hard to read the expression on Ronon's face to have one of his own.

The tension was still there, Ronon realized, but not the anger. This, whatever _this_ was, wasn't finished yet. Wasn't even important, yet.

Ronon hated that he could barely breathe, let alone get his vocal chords to work. He swallowed once, to test the stranglehold on his throat, and found it unfaded. Painful. It hurt to speak. His voice felt shredded, pathetic, so full of scratch and gravel that there was no way John could understand what he meant, even if he managed to hear the words.

"Love you."

Sheppard stared at Ronon for a minute, too many things flashing across his eyes to translate, and Ronon was lost. He hoped that maybe John would let him get away with it, pretend he hadn't heard, but then John's hand found his.

"Love you too," and his words were large enough to save the world, and in that instant, Ronon knew how he'd meant his to sound. "Now shut the hell up."

  
 **56\. Broken Ties**

 _The first fourteen times Ronon died, Sheppard was supposed to stop it._

By the twenty-fourth, Ronon stopped caring.

By the thirty-fourth, Ronon stopped remembering.

By the fifty-fourth, Ronon was gone.

He fought it. To death and life all over again, he'd fought them, but he felt the fear growing. He knew that they would not stop, that this would not end.

He was weak, a failure. He began to beg, for his life, then for his death, for the pain and the release, for it all just to stop.

But onward they pushed, until their power of life and death was all he knew. He learned to love them for it, for the rush of life blasting through his chest, making him whole as much as he'd been empty, over and over again.

And eventually, they pushed the fight out of him, and rebuilt it in their own image. He was mad with the purpose they gave him, and it felt right, to have his gun in his hand again, to have an allegiance, like he'd had a hundred lifetimes ago.  
\---

Clawing his way back into the fight, he couldn't move his arms, and the pain was a razor he couldn't avoid, no matter how hard he struggled. Sheppard was there, but like before, not there to rescue him. He said he was a friend, but he was going to keep him here, in limbo. Not alive, and not dead, and not free.

 _Just like the wraith._

Ronon watched Sheppard leave, finally falling silent. No one left to fight, he continued to tighten and loosen his fists, continued to test his bonds.  
\---

Strapped to a bed, covered in his own sweat, confused and weak, Ronon came back to himself.

Painful sobs strained his raw throat and wouldn't be swallowed. He tried to choke out the beginning of a thousand apologies to anyone who might be listening, but couldn't get enough air to speak- if only they'd let him sit up- if he sat up, he could breathe, he could calm down, he could talk to them. He could hear his sentence be read, or begin to make reparations; he didn't care which at the moment, he just needed his brain to stop reeling for a moment. He needed something to focus on. He couldn't think.

Movement, off to his left. Doctors. A rush of something in his blood, and darkness following after.  
\---

Sheppard stood, watching Ronon in the isolation room below. It had been hard enough, watching him, crazed and angry, fighting the medics trying to sedate him, but it wasn't much easier to watch him bound to the hospital bed, still and silent.

Ronon, he knew, slept curled on his side, stomach close to the bed, arms crossed in front of him. On the bad nights, one arm curled over his head, while the other protected his torso. Even now, with three years with a roof over his head, he slept only lightly.

Now, though, because of the restraints and sedatives, Ronon was on his back, arms at his side. He appeared completely open to attack, though Sheppard knew that when Ronon woke up, the illusion would be disappear in an instant.  
\---

He wasn't awake yet, but someone was already talking. He knew, somehow, that there was only one person who should have been there, but it was all confused. He was strapped down and too weak to break the bonds.

"Sheppard?" he asked, but it was McKay who appeared when he opened his eyes, who talked to him, and it was McKay who ran off, shouting that someone was back. He didn't understand, and he drifted, trying to remember what was wrong, but he still couldn't think.

He followed some vague memory until it led him to Tyre. He needed to warn Sheppard. He couldn't concentrate, trying to remember what Sheppard had meant when he'd said that Tyre was a friend. Couldn't even be sure it had happened. He felt like he'd been stunned.

Only that wasn't right. He could feel the tranquilizers still flooding his system. They left him with the same addled mind, the same ache in his spine, the same knot in his gut. The sedatives made him lethargic, the painkillers disconnected him from his body. He was powerless.

Right then, he wasn't yet capable of dealing with the fact that the doctors had needed to tranquilize him. Right then, all he felt was the betrayal.

 _They are no better than the wraith, and deserve no allegiance._  
\----

"You sure about this?" Woolsey indicated the results he held in his hand and looked back to Keller, who nodded with a reassuring confidence.

"I'd give him a wide berth in the training room for a while, but I don't think confining him is the answer. Right now, we're probably doing more harm than good, just leaving the pressure to build. I say we keep him for observation over night, but cut him loose in the morning, barring any strange test results."

"Well," Woolsey clearly had some reservations, but didn't want to be the first to voice them. "Colonel? What do you think?"

"I agree that keeping him in restraints can't be helping, but we shouldn't give him free rein just yet. I want a security detail posted at the door tonight. See what he does then, pull security off gradually."

"Really?" 

"Yes Sir."

"I have to admit, Colonel, I was expecting to have to fight you on this."

Sheppard shrugged, tried to speak like he didn't have feelings one way or the other. Like he wasn't considering becoming a traitor and just cutting Ronon loose. "It's to protect him as much as it is the rest of us. Near as I can tell, this wraith-worshipping stuff is more serious than your garden-variety gate mania. He could still be a threat to the city."

Keller looked uncomfortable with the idea, which should have tipped Sheppard off. "Colonel, he's too weak and miserable to be a threat. I promise." At Sheppard's dubious expression, she continued. "What's most important at this point is that we get him resettled as quickly as possible. Let him know that we trust him, that we're not the enemy. That's going to be the best way to get through to him. To get him through this."  
\---

He awoke –again- to see Keller and two nurses bustling about, and two marines glaring at him from where they stood, covering the nurses and blocking the doorway.

"We're going to let you out of your restraints now, if you promise to behave," Keller said, sternly, clearly knowing better than to trust him. "We're going to get you cleaned up, transfer you to the infirmary, and feed you. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," he ground out, understanding that he had to no options but to play along. If they couldn't keep him here, they would keep him in a cell, probably on this or some other military base, for the rest of his life, a possibility that had him on the verge of crying like a brat. But old training never really goes away, and the thought of a shower and, more importantly, a meal, would ensure his survival.

Survival, he thought he could handle.

The room was too bright, and he recognized it as one of the locker rooms. They let him brush his teeth. It was strange to do so with an audience, and he wondered if they were making sure he didn't try to gag himself with the toothbrush, or try to kill anyone with it. It all felt slightly ridiculous.

As weapons went, it was a little ineffectual. Even slowed by the drugs, he easily could have disarmed the first guard and used his P-90 to neutralize the other one. He probably wouldn't even need it on the nurses.

He spit into the sink, and let himself be led back to the infirmary, where Keller didn't order the restraints be replaced, and he wanted to warn her. Warn them, even though it went against his training. _  
_  
_I'm not who you think I am. You can't trust me._

Keller continued her monologue as she ticked some things off on her data pad. "…when you do feel like talking, I'll be here, okay? … I can get someone for you? Anyway here's the button if you need to call…a few days…" Ronon couldn't hear her over all the blood rushing in her veins, or in his head, but with a final nod of her head, she finally left, much to Ronon's relief.

She had no idea how prettily her neck would snap.  
\---

Sheppard couldn't go in there and order him out on a mission, out into the field, not yet. And no one was ready for him to resume training with the Marines. Sheppard was at a loss. On the best of days, words meant little to Ronon, so telling him that they would be okay, that things would get better, was right out.

 _He's still probably confused. He needs to know what's going on, what's true and what isn't._

He cleared the guards from the doorway before entering the infirmary, not wanting Ronon to see them. When he entered, Ronon was sitting up in bed, looking dazed. He approached slowly, trying not to look as wary as he felt. Ronon's expression gave nothing away, but that was nothing new. They weren't ready for words yet.

He handed him Tyre's sword, watched the understanding cross Ronon's eyes, right before the mask came up. He wished he had something he could say, that Ronon could hear, and tried to decide if he was being cruel or just stupid as he left the room.

Ronon never called out for him- he wouldn't have, really, now that he was back to himself- but it didn't stop John from wishing for it. But their own wants alone, strong as they were, could not compete with the safety of the expedition.

He was fairly sure Ronon would have gotten that.  
\---

Sheppard tied his other boot and headed out of his room, already ordering teams to suit up with stunners. "Don't engage unless you have to. He's still one of ours. Probably."  
 _  
Back to himself in no time, huh Keller?_

He stepped into the hallway, already tuned into the radio chatter as Lorne requested a position update. The doctors, or course, were on the comms, and Sheppard wished they could kick them off the channel.

"He's agitated and confused," Keller said, her voice thin and worried in Sheppard's ear. "You going to want the restraints back on him?"

"No one goes in there before I do, and that's an order. They're alone in there, right?"

"Affirmative," Lorne said, "I'm looking in on Ryerson right now. Ronon is in the back room. Heard some rummaging around a few minutes ago, but it doesn't look like he's moving anymore."

"Ryerson?"

"I think he's only playing possum," Lorne explained. "I have visual. Head wound, there's bleeding, and I thought i saw him open his eyes."

"Okay. I'm first contact with Ronon, you all hold back."

"We're already here," Lorne offered, clearly aware of what Sheppard's response would be.

"Ronon's going to trust me before he trusts you. Besides. I'm the jackass that gave him a sword."

"True. At least you didn't give him his gun back."

"Yeah, well. Once Ryerson's out, fall back a few yards, stun him if he comes back through."

"…but yes, maybe we cut him loose too early," he heard Keller concede to one of the other doctors, and Sheppard remained tactfully silent. He'd wring her neck later.

"He attacked Ryerson with a _sword_ ," McKay replied. "You _think_?"

"He panicked when he woke up and struck him with the hilt. He didn't even draw blood," Keller reasoned. "It's not like-"

"Okay, I'm out of the transporter," Sheppard cut in. "Everyone clear out. Away from the windows, Doc."

He passed Keller, and met Lorne and Cadman, guarding the infirmary door, watching McKay pretend not to be nervous.

"Other exit secure?"

"They're all locked out," McKay confirmed. "Took care of that first thing."

He motioned for the others to step back, and McKay unlocked the door.

And he was through, stunner drawn, rushing over to Ryerson.  The doctor opened his eyes and moved to get up under his own power, waving back the medics who were hesitating in the doorway, waiting for Sheppard's signal. He let Sheppard usher him back into the hallway, nodded back into the infirmary.

"He seemed really confused. He doesn't like to be touched," the doctor said.  "Don't know if that helps any."

"It does.  Thanks."  He turned back into the infirmary. "Lorne, anything?"

"He's still on the far side of the inner room. Not by the doors. Not moving"

He moved silently, listening to the doctors chatter about side effects, serotonin levels, acute stress reaction, and the like. It sounded like the Fear, but that wasn't his department.  

He stepped up to the open door, but didn't cross the threshold.

Ronon stood against the wall, hands at his sides. Tyre's sword, the thing that had started this entire mess, lay on the floor in the center of the room. And though Ronon had no access to firearms, it didn't mean he couldn't set a trap.

John checked his blind spots in the reflections of two powered-down monitors, and saw that Ronon hadn't rigged the door, as far as could be told. He stepped forward, and nothing happened.

For the moment, Sheppard was the only threat in the room.

Ronon's eyes were wide open, watching him with an unwavering stare, like he was waiting for the axe to fall, and didn't particularly care when it would happen. He stood only because he was too much a survivor to surrender, despite himself.

"Ronon. You alright?"

Ronon blinked a few times, still dazed, not seeming to trust what he saw before him. But he spoke. "Did I kill anyone?" His voice was hoarse

"No. Knocked Ryerson out, but he's okay."

"You here to kill me?"

"No," John started, schooling his voice to sound calmer than he felt, "and I'm not going to hurt you. We're going to help you get better, okay? Do you understand?"

Ronon shook his head. "You should kill me."

"No," John disagreed, a little relieved at his own vehemence. "No, I really shouldn't."

"I. I'm in here, and all I know is what I've done. I might do it again. I dream about shooting you. Killing Rodney with my bare hands. Slitting Teyla's throat and throwing Torren against a wall. I'm not right. I came back wrong. You need to kill me. You'll be safe then." Ronon was still shaking his head, slower now. "It's on you if you don't. Protect the city."

"We could still use your help on that front."

"They've already gotten me. They could come back at any time. I don't know if-"

"Ronon? _Ronon_. Listen to me very carefully. Do you want to hurt anyone right now? Teyla? Rodney? Anyone?"

Again, head shaking, emphatic. "No! But it doesn't mean I won't! I was going to-" he stopped. "I keep having these thoughts, and," Ronon started to laugh, rocking back and forth on the balls of his bare feet. "I've been trying to figure out what to believe since I got here, Sheppard. And I don't have one fucking clue what I'm supposed to remember." His face threatened to crumple, and he slid down, back against the wall. Ronon lowered his head, dreadlocks falling back into his face, one hand reaching up to tug them back as he repeated himself, sadly. "Not a clue."

Sheppard took another step in Ronon's direction, halting when pierced with a panic-sharpened glare. It softened back into tired wariness, and Ronon turned his face away just slightly.

"Sorry is too small a word for how I feel. There isn't one large enough." His voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper, and he spoke with his eyes closed.

John was glad there was no outward sign that would give away his skyrocketing heart rate, but he was embarrassed (and _touched_ , and _liable to break down in tears at any fucking moment_ ) nonetheless.

"It's okay. We'll get through this, okay?" But Ronon's eyes were still closed, and slumped in defeat like that, it didn't even look like him.

"I think you should leave, Sheppard. I need to think some more."

Sheppard took the sword up from the floor. It was heavy in his hands. "I can't do that just yet. We need to get you out of here."

"Where to?"

" For now, a holding cell," and John didn't look at Ronon as he said it, and he didn't listen to the doctors start squawking in argument. At least until we figure things out."  
\---

Sheppard was sulking, avoiding everyone, and, if McKay's suspicions were right, making things worse for himself in the long run. He'd disabled the life signs detector a few hours before, to allow Sheppard some privacy, but that had been some time ago.

He looked down at the screen, tempted again to bury himself in his work, but, as always, reason won out. The fact of the matter was that they were probably just about due for another crisis, and if John wasn't fit to lead, and soon, they were all in trouble.

He grabbed one of the six packs stashed in his quarters, and went towards Ronon's room. The door opened when he waved his hand over the controls, but locked again behind him.

"Rodney," Sheppard acknowledged him, as if he'd been expecting the interruption.

"John?" McKay blinked, remembering that he'd forgotten to develop any sort of conversational strategy before entering.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came here to, well, not to ask you the same, because I think I already know," he faltered, stepping forward, "but to see how you were doing, which I know is a stupid question, but there it is. Look, Sheppard," he walked around Ronon's bed until he could see Sheppard's face. "I know you'd rather talk to Teyla, but she's not here. You're pissed off at Woolsey and Keller, and everyone else is military. So, if you, er, wanted to talk, you're pretty much left with me."

Sheppard's lips were white, and when he looked up at Rodney, briefly, Rodney saw he was trying to read him. _Trying to figure out how much I know_. He didn't know what else to do, so he opened a beer and handed it to him. "Or, we could just have a beer, which is generally better for morale anyhow." He handed it to John, and opened another for himself. They toasted silently, but neither drank.

"Sit down, you're making me nervous," John growled, for the sake of ice-breaking and having something benign to grumble over, so Rodney obliged, wondering how much pushing would be too much, wishing that Teyla was there instead.

"So. What's going on?"

"We've got him back, we've got him calmed down again, but he's in lockup. He's at least light years from where he was born, insane, murderous, miserable, guilty, or sure that everyone he'd trusted thinks he's a traitor. Which may be right. And I'm at a total loss with regards to how to proceed. That's what's going on."

"He _is_ coming out of it, you know. He's getting better." John sneered at Rodney's interjection. "No. Listen. He was tortured and had his mind messed with, but we know that wraith worshippers keep their memories. The core is still there. It's hard, yeah, but they can get over it. We saw that with Tyre. And it sucks. But if anybody has less of a wraith-worshipping core, in six galaxies, it's Ronon. If anyone could come out of it, it's him."

"Yeah, but what happens to him when he does?"  
\---

"Let me see him," Sheppard repeated, letting the growl finally creep into his voice, but Keller seemed unconvinced.

"You know it may not be safe," she reasoned, trying, but failing, to soften the blow of the accusation. "You're the one who threw him in the brig."

 _Which means it's up to me to start fixing it_. "It's been two days, now, and he's been behaving. You have any better ideas?"

"No."

"So let me in there," and if he had to repeat himself one more time, he was certain he was going to scream.  
\---

Ronon woke as soon as he heard the door open, and he sat up, wearily, to see Sheppard dismissing the guards as he entered the room.

From where he sat, elbows on his knees, bare feet on the floor, he couldn't tell if anything had changed.

He'd grown more lucid, and all that meant was that he knew just how sick and twisted and wrong he was. How untrustworthy. There was no way he could ask for forgiveness. Not yet.

But he really wanted to.

"Hey," Sheppard said, and he sounded tired, beaten already. Like he was the powerless one, and it wrenched, to be the one responsible for putting that look on his face.

"Hey." He watched Sheppard draw closer, and wondered if he was going to be foolish enough to turn off the holding cell, but he only sat on the floor, cross-legged, facing him. Settling in to talk, or maybe to listen.

"How're you feeling?"

Ronon shrugged. "I don't know. Things are clearer than they were, and my memory is sorting itself out, so… I don't know. Pissed off, mostly."

"Pissed off at who?"

"Myself. The wraith. You."

"Why me?"

"You put the city at risk, bringing me back to the city. Giving me weapons." And he'd heard the doctors talking when they'd come in to check on him; he already knew Keller thought of it as part of the healing process, or some such bullshit, and he could guess that Sheppard had followed her lead. "I came really close to hitting Ryerson again. The second hit could have killed him." He didn't say that he could see himself doing it, that he could feel Ryerson's skull being crushed.

"But you stopped yourself."

"And then I ran. Knew I was supposed to go back and make sure he was okay, but I didn't trust myself not to kill him. So I left him on the floor, injured, when there was no other threat."

"That was the smartest thing you could have done, under the circumstances."

"I wasn't thinking about strategy."

"Maybe so, but some part of you knew enough to stop yourself." Sheppard offered. "Is that why you're pissed off at yourself?"

Ronon clapped his hands together gently, it resounded in the cell with a hollow finality. "They won." _I failed._

"No. You _survived_."

"People don't survive this."

"Tyre did."

"Maybe he died before you found out otherwise."

"Well, he saved our asses, and yours, when it mattered. Counts for a lot more than a bunch of what-ifs and wild guesses. He recovered from it."

"Which means we were wrong," Ronon said, more to himself, smirking bitterly.

"Wrong about what?"

"On Sateda. We _killed_ wraith worshippers. If what you say is true, than we were murdering our own."

"You were doing what you had to do," Sheppard spoke quietly, knowing the words wouldn't help. Wouldn't change how Ronon felt. It's a terrible thing to discover.

"And you didn't."

"Of course I was. It's my job to protect Atlantis. You're part of it. How disloyal do you think I am?"

"You're plenty loyal. But maybe you're loyal to the wrong things."

Sheppard threw his head back, as if to clear it. "No, I'm not. We don't leave our people behind." _Even when they're insane_. He sighed. "Okay, listen. I'm going to give you a choice, and I want you to consider it carefully." At Ronon's nod, he continued.

"You have two options. One. We let you out of here, you go back to your quarters, and we start getting things back to normal around here. Two. We let you out of here, you go back to your quarters, and grab what you want before leaving Atlantis."  
\---

"Why did you push it so hard?" Woolsey asked, shutting off the video replay of the conversation in the brig. Sheppard was just familiar enough with the man to know that they were off the record, but he wasn't about to push his luck.

"Because keeping him locked up, under guard, is bad for morale. Everyone's morale. And I don't think we need it."

"And if he is not truly over this?"

"Then we'll figure it out as it comes. But look, I know Ronon better than anyone in the city, Sir. Locking him away isn't helping him any. If he's treated like the enemy, it's going to be hard to convince him that he isn't the enemy."

"So you now genuinely agree with Doctor Keller?"

"I think Keller had the right idea, it was just too soon, and no one was ready for it. Right now, Ronon feels guilty and he's angry at himself for allowing it to happen. He sees it as surrender, and so in his mind, he's a failure. He needs to prove himself to himself, and in doing so, he can prove himself to us."

"I understand. I do, however, wish you had run it past me, before you started offering ultimatums to expedition members with regards to their future on Atlantis." Woolsey stopped just short of clicking his tongue disapprovingly, but Sheppard had expected worse.

"What should I have done?"

"Protocol states that he should be kept locked down until such a time that we understand the threat that he poses, his chances for rehabilitation, and his future usefulness. At that point, we decide if moving him to a more permanent and secure facility on Earth would be more practical than exile or other options." Sheppard refused to ask what the other options were. He didn't want his suspicions confirmed. Woolsey's face broke into a smile, however, as he continued. "At least, that is the official protocol. I am beginning to develop an appreciation for the more… _unspoken_ policies that come into play with the day-to-day decisions surrounding the operation of this city."  
\---

"So what do you think?" Sheppard said, stepping back into the room, wondering if he was being too overconfident, if he'd read something wrong, made some faulty assumption. Hoping that Ronon wouldn't disappoint him. _Hoping he won't break your damned heart._

"The first one. Stay here, try again," and Ronon looked at Sheppard like he expected that the choice had already been taken off the table, and it didn't sound like a decision as much as it sounded like a request. Sheppard's heart lurched at the words anyhow, as if they were the strongest proclamation he could have hoped for.

"Glad to hear it," _You've got no idea how much_. Sheppard tried to control his grin, and probably failed, and he opened the door.  
\---

Ronon's release from captivity was not a cure-all. Sheppard kept the team on stand-down, partially to give everyone time to readjust, partially to allow Teyla some more time with her family, and partially to let McKay bask in the glory of uninterrupted lab time.

Ronon was training again, he ate meals with them, went to movie night, met Sheppard every other morning to go running, but his near-silence was deafening, and it was starting to come to a head. There was only so much longer they could put off talking.

Sheppard could understand the need for distance. Ronon didn't trust himself, and unfortunately, that seemed to extend to not trusting his trust in John. But Ronon had been not-quite avoiding him for almost two weeks.  
\---

It was Lorne, of course, that forced the issue.

He stood up, picking up the clipboard he'd been taking notes on during their meeting, and cleared his throat.

"Colonel, you have to do something about him before it gets worse."

Sheppard blinked, trying to fit what he'd heard in with the F302 maintenance schedule rotations they'd been discussing. "You sure it's not just the new crew not measuring up?"

Lorne didn't quite roll his eyes in frustration. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"

"Shoot."

"We're all used to him kicking our asses. But he's lost his sense of humor about it."

"Huh?"

"He's overworking the marines, sir. They're too worn out to be useful in an emergency. It's bad for morale. _Everyone's_ morale," he finished, pointedly, instead of coming right out and saying it. _Yours_.  
\---

"Ronon. Got a minute?" Sheppard interrupted the sparring session he'd walked in on, and winced at the look of relief that crossed Barker's face at the respite.

"Here?" Ronon wiped his face with a towel and squinted up at him.

"Outside. Looks like these guys are done for the day, anyhow."

Ronon nodded, dismissing the trainees with a nod, before following Shepard down the hall and out onto the balcony. "What's up?" He said, his voice clearly anticipating an argument.

"I was aiming to ask you the same. You're driving my men into the ground."  

"They need more training."

"They need to _recover_ from training."

"Maybe you're underestimating them."

"I could be overestimating your recovery."

"I'm _fine_."  

"You're _worried_."

"You would be, too. Should be. It could happen again."

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

"We'll stop it. We always do," and Sheppard could almost feel Ronon relax, stepping down. Toeing the line. Considering the matter settled. He looked out over the water and debated his next move.  "So what else is going on?"

To his credit, Ronon gave nothing away, no twitch, no hitch in his breathing. But John knew him well enough to pick up on the deliberateness of the act. "Nothing."

"Bullshit. This isn't just you being responsible. The same threats are out there that were last week. I need to know if you're actually okay, or if I need to keep you off active duty."

"I told you. I'm fine. Look. I'll ease up on them, okay?"

"Damn right you will. And you'll tell me this, right now. What the wraith did to you- how you're handling it. Is there anything that I should know?" Ronon wasn't looking at him, not even in a roundabout way, his glare aimed at one of the lower decks.

Something was warring in him. He wanted to speak. He would have started, but then Sheppard's radio cut in. Cadman and her team were ready for their mission briefing.

John stifled an irate shout, and with a half-glance in Ronon's direction, he relented. "Your quarters. 2300 hours. Okay?"

He glanced down Ronon's back as he stepped away, his posture so ramrod straight, the tension shooting down his arms to end in fists so white-knuckled that John could only guess if they were meant as threat or punishment.  
\---

Ronon was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, back curved, head down. Sheppard wasn't expecting it, but Ronon glanced up, made first contact, nodded a weak greeting.

In that one instant, Sheppard's heart stopped. He'd been ready, in some loose sense, to face a certain amount of misery. He found himself less prepared to see that Ronon was, apparently, of the same mind.  
 _  
You could have done this a week ago._

"Hey." He sat down on the bed, next to Ronon, but not too close.

"Hey."

"Okay…" John didn't know where to go from here. The moment stretched on. Ronon was tense, nervous, hell, he was afraid. He was attempting to hide behind his hair, but John could still see enough of his face to catch the twisting of his mouth as it set into an embarrassed smirk.

"Not so good at just...talking about...stuff. I think I need you to ask."

"Okay. Ronon. What's going on? What happened?"

Ronon nodded at this, and rubbed his hands over his face, sitting back a moment before resuming his defeated posture.

"When the wraith had me, they drained me over and over, and brought me back every single time."

Sheppard nodded, not wanting to interrupt Ronon as he worked up to whatever he needed to say. Listened to him breathe, and then listened to him begin.

"Every time I came back, there was less to come back to. I could feel things slipping away, I started losing things, losing memories. Forgot about Sateda. My family. Forgot about you. Atlantis. Forgot about me." His monotone was chilling. Not the usual gruff terseness John knew and understood. Ronon's voice was dead. "They stole my life."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't have to keep apologizing, you know. About the wraith." Ronon was trying to laugh, to regain some sense of normalcy, but it was too early for that. It sounded too brittle. The edge was still too close. The sky outside the window was still too dark.

 _Late night, need for silence, but they'd made it back. Brought back all four soldiers, two still alive. Keeping watch over the younger one- he'd been sexually assaulted, probably, on top of everything else. Looking up again to see the medics still trying to stabilize the other one. Trying to keep him silent, not knowing how to get through to him. Not knowing what to do- he's just the damned pilot, for crying out loud. Not knowing his name, or how they'd get him out of Jalalabad before the next strike._

"Seriously. I'm sorry. If we'd found you, gotten to you sooner. It wouldn't have…shit." John shook his head, having finally worked up the nerve. "This is probably going to be... Um. Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

"No." Ronon's voice sounded sharp, defensive and confused, until he realized what Sheppard was really asking. "There's nothing, um. Physical. Just," He rapped the side of his head, "this shit." He swallowed thickly, hoping his next words didn't sound as insane aloud as they did in his head. "And I know I should be thankful for that, at least. But maybe that would have made it easier. It would make it real, not just something that I think might have happened. I mean, I _know_ it happened, but it got all meshed in with everything else that was going on and I didn't have the time- I couldn't deal with it when it was happening. My brain was too messed up. Hell, you saw me." He swallowed, looked away. "Everyone did…"

Ronon trailed off, needing to slow down, needing to stop the fear from growing again. "You know their hands?" he asked, following some train of thought that John hadn't seen yet, "They're colder than death when they give you life. They're warm when they're draining you." He shook his head like it was some immutable truth that shaped the world, a humorless smile ghosting over his lips.

"Look at me. Ronon, look at me." Ronon raised his head, a little, but not enough for John's liking. His eyes, though, met his, but couldn't stay there for more than an instant.

"Too bright. Sorry." John saw through the lie, but concentrated until the lights dimmed. He was a little relieved too- it was shamefully hard to look at him.

Ronon was still folded in on himself, and looked like he might be sick. "It's just. I'm getting my head back now, and it's all hitting." His voice was quiet and threading, on the verge of tears. "Everything that happened. Everything that I did. That they did to me. And most of the time, I'm okay."

Ronon evidently didn't believe his own words, and he started sobbing, straining for silence, shuddering against the release.

John's reached out to touch Ronon's back, operating on more instinct than thought, until Ronon twitched away from the contact with a startled gasp.  John swept his hand away.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to-" his hands moved down to his lap, but he leaned in closely to talk. "Ronon, it's me. It's okay. It's just me."

"I _know_." Even through the tears, John heard his annoyance. Ronon coughed. And the look on his face- the briefest flash of that crossed- was desperate wishing that he could accept the contact. That he wasn't too damaged for the rest of the human race. Neither spoke for long moments, letting the air grow still around them.

"Could you. Uh, can you do it again? You don't have to. I mean, if you don't want to."  Ronon was staring hard at the floor as he spoke, trying to get himself back under control. John reached out again to touch again, his sweater slightly damp with fear under his fingers. Ronon let him brush his hand farther, under his dreads and up to his shoulder. He followed the gentle pressure as he was pulled closer. John took that as acceptance, and slowly brought his other hand came up to rest on Ronon's arm.

Because of the angle, there was no way for John to see Ronon's face, and maybe that was why he allowed himself to go on, quietly, his rough voice breaking the quiet that had settled over the room.

"I don't know where this starts and where I end." Something about the words hurt. Like he should have reversed it. _Where I start and where this ends_. John was pretty sure there would have been more hope in that.

John suppressed his own shudder by pulling him closer; Ronon's hands were now held in front of him, crossed over his heart, protecting himself from attack even now. "But you know you're still there," John reasoned, eventually, talking into Ronon's hair.

"I know I'm probably still a risk," This, he could talk about, and if he said it before John did, then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. "And I'm not good to be around right now." Ronon eased back up until he was sitting again, and John let him go, watched Ronon's hand gesture weakly toward the door. "So if you wanted to-"

"I'm not going anywhere, until you're feeling like going with me, okay?" Ronon shrugged. "Good enough for now. Could you look at me a second?"

Ronon tried not to flinch away when Sheppard pushed the hair out of his face, but his eyes, red rimmed and dry now, met Sheppard's.

"Do you want me to stay here tonight?"

"What about-"

"Doesn't matter. I'm off duty tomorrow. So. Do you want me to stay?"

Ronon nodded. After a moment, he stood, going into the bathroom to change. He came out a few moments later wearing flannel pants, a sweatshirt, and socks. He watched John strip down to his boxers and tee shirt, and followed him into the bed.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

John lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be thinking right now, if there was something he was supposed to say, but it was Ronon, again, who surprised him by seeking out contact.

He felt the mattress shift as he rolled over towards John, and felt his hand ghosting over John's chest. It didn't move, even when John covered it with his own, holding it there, warm against the beating of a heart that slowed only to sleep.

  
 **57\. The Daedalus Variations**

Ronon followed Sheppard's lead, covering the bodies. Their bodies.

There were a few differences, but not many, and not major. Different lives boiled down to little more than small differences in wardrobe. A scar on Rodney's chin that didn't belong there. A ring on Ronon's finger that matched the one that Sheppard wore, probably procured on the same off-world mission. A thickness about the waist that indicated Teyla was still pregnant.

He was pretty sure the others wouldn't be interested in what he'd noticed. The Daedalus wasn't a mirror. These people weren't themselves, and he had work to be doing, anyway.  
He followed Teyla in to look for more supplies.

She was still nervous, unsettled from seeing their dead selves, and he wasn't used to having to be the one to put her mind at ease, but he tried.

In some other life, he knew he'd died a wraith-worshipper. In another, he might have killed himself in the aftermath. In another, he probably took the others down with him.  
If he made it that far. Probably dead a few thousand times from the years on the run by now.

But if McKay was right, he lived a thousand other lives. Not wraith-shadow lives, given only to be taken away, over and again, but whole lives, as real to their owners as his was to him. It was a backhanded reaffirmation, of sorts, if a little morbid.

He didn't know how to explain it to Teyla, but he would have tried, if she'd asked.  
\---

"Oh, here's your DS back, though why you feel the need to play Call of Duty is anyone's guess. I had Zelenka bring it up with my data pad."

"Thanks, and the memory?"

"Upgraded as per your request, so now will you bump up those hard drive requisitions for the computers that _need_ them?"

"Sure thing," John promised, watching the options screen load and resetting the controls while Rodney fidgeted with something on his tablet. He settled in for a half-hour of pure slack, and he wasn't sure if he heard Rodney the first time.

"John," Rodney repeated, his attention evidently not on his screen. "So, ah. How's Ronon doing?"

"Fine. I think the chance to get out of the city and get some shots off probably did him some good." He smirked at Rodney's rolling eyes. "Why? You notice anything weird?"

"No. He seems back to normal. Bigger relief than I thought it would be." He squinted at the foot of his bed, like he wasn't used to putting words to his thoughts. "I mean, I knew he was better already, but didn't know how much I knew it until we were in the middle of everything, you know?"

"I hear ya," Sheppard agreed, turning on his video game.

"I bet you _do_ ," McKay agreed, distracted again by his data pad, jotting down a few more notes and unaware of the stare that Sheppard aimed in his direction.

"Huh?"

"Just-" Rodney blinked, his brain catching up to his mouth, and he backpedaled, for once. "Nothing." His mouth slashed into a grimace, and he tried to dive back into the data, but he felt the eyes on him.

"Rodney," and John knew he probably shouldn't push it, probably shouldn't say anything more, but Rodney had some idea, or was about to guess, and it was bound to come out sooner or later. He was sure of it. _Might as well come out now._

McKay looked around, saw no one close, but he couldn't be sure that they were alone in the infirmary. "Look, I. I know it's none of my business." He raised his eyebrows in Sheppard's direction, fixing him with a pointed glare. "But _is_ there anything going on that's none of my business?" He continued, in a near whisper, "I mean, between you two?"

And Sheppard didn't need to think; he'd had the answer planned out long ago. He knew McKay, that he wouldn't take issue with it. He was surprisingly liberal with anyone's personal life, if only because he had a thousand more important and interesting things to think about. He wouldn't spread it around, partially because he was too selfish, really, to talk about anyone else.

"No." he said, with just the correct tone of disbelief in his tone and laughter in his eyes, not expecting to get away with the lie. "We're friends, but that's it." He shrugged, more carefully than he let on.

"That's what I figured, really. It's just that, well, you took it pretty hard, is all, when he went missing."

"How was I _supposed_ to take it?"

"Fair point," Rodney ceded the point, somewhat self-deprecating, and turned again to his work.

John let a few moments pass, making sure it looked like he'd gotten distracted by the game, and not by the fact that he'd just lied to Rodney.

"How many jumps do you think that drive has left in it before it burns out?"  
\---

Ronon couldn't be found anywhere, at least on the cursory glances through doorways on the way to his office, but he responded to Sheppard's second radio call.

"Yeah?" Ronon's voice sounded a little strained, a little frustrated, but not dangerously so.

"Where are you?" John flipped through a few sheets of paper, trying to find the notes he needed for the meeting, glancing at the clock. He still had about five minutes.

"Back of the 302 bay. Um. Helping Zelenka out, testing the rail gun simulator."

"You mean practicing?" He smirked, ostensibly because he found the changes he wanted to implement in the jumper certification training.

"Maybe," Ronon said, and Sheppard could almost hear his grin, at least until Zelenka cut in.

"Colonel Sheppard, you must order him elsewhere," Zelenka cut into the channel. "He throws temper tantrum worse than Doctor McKay, only not so scary and perhaps more expensive."

"Oh, I'm sure he can behave himself." There was nothing pressing in the inbox, but Cadman had _finally_ filed her last three mission reports.

"I am not so worried about him as I am about the, ah, simulator console."

Ronon grunted, but Sheppard couldn't understand the intent behind it.

"Well, you heard the man," he addressed Ronon again, breaking off as Lorne came through the door to hand him the data pad he'd sent for, "You eaten yet?" Sheppard trailed off, hoping he wasn't as close to indiscretion as he felt, signed off on another report, handing it back to Lorne.

Lorne, of course, had probably heard the entire conversation- they were on an open channel, after all- and rolled his eyes. " _Paranoid much?_ " he mouthed, smirking as he backed out of the office. Sheppard nodded vehemently.

"No. See you in the mess in twenty?" Ronon sounded like he was moving, probably standing up, grabbing his holster.

"I'm about to head into a meeting. Make it thirty?"

"Sounds like a plan."  
\---

John crossed to the small refrigerator and pulled out two beers.

"Did good today," he cracked the top open on his, handing the other to Ronon.

"Yeah." Ronon raised a small toast. "Can't complain. Wished we could have grabbed one of those stunners, though."

"McKay is already trying to figure out what the green blast means. He'd never seen anything like it before, wants to know if it's useful, or just pretty. But first, he's probably doing some scary research on that alternate universe drive that I don't want to know about."

"You're not letting him set-"

"No. It's just theoretical, I think. Besides. If he wasn't trying to figure that out, it would be something else." John held his breath a beat to long, ruining his own segue. "Like you and me, for instance." The words hung there, for a moment.

"He say something?"

"He asked, at least."

Ronon nodded, sipping his beer a little too calmly, but John continued before he could respond. "It's not going to be a problem, but. I told him there was no us." He floundered, gesturing to the space between them with his beer can. "That we were just friends." He swallowed the beer he'd sipped in a play for time, and continued. "Which sucks, I know, but-"

"He's McKay. He can't _not_ talk, or control what he says when he's doing it." Ronon shrugged, looking up at him. "It's fine."

"I just don't like lying."

"Well, do you like lying down? I'm freaking tired and have to get up in three hours."

"What for?"

"Zelenka's got the first shift tomorrow, so he'll be out of the 302 bay tonight."  
\---

Some nights, the nightmares were horrible, shaking things that left both of them panting, at a standoff, poised to kill, until both of them were awake enough to recognize their enemy.

 _Waking up under attack, going for a gun that wasn't there, and it's kind of sick, how John's considering keeping a stunner under his pillow for these nights. Kind of sick, how he might have to use it against Ronon. How he's planning for it in advance.  
_  
Some nights, the nightmares were over with before he opened his eyes, and Ronon let himself believe he was getting better.

 _John knocked on the door, a magazine in hand to provide cover for onlookers, if needed, and was about to knock again. Ronon appeared in the darkened entryway, squinting blearily out at him, squinting against the bright hallway lights._

"What's up?" He was already trying to push back his sleep, and that wasn't what John wanted.

"Shoot, I didn't mean to wake you, I just. Was going to see if you wanted to hang out."

"Not really up for it," Ronon managed to focus on him, trying to will his thoughts into John's brain without opening his mouth. "Sorry."

He didn't want to explain how embarrassing it was to have John watching over him. Seeing him like that. How fucking mortifying it was to need him there in the first place. How selfish, that he couldn't pay that attention back in kind.

Some nights, the nightmares were just nightmares. These were the nights where Ronon's confidence held until he stumbled into semi-wakefulness again, waking to find himself in his own room, in his own bed, and lonely, like he didn't even belong there anymore.

 _Throwing clothes on again, slipping out the door and out of the city, walking the catwalks until he could see the light on in Sheppard's quarters, wishing he was well enough to be back there, not trusting himself enough to draw closer to the city. Rolling out the bedroll he'd stashed, and settling down in the shelter of a stairwell, feeling the wind cutting over him a little too closely._

Some nights, the nightmares were half-noticed things that faded away again as he curled back into John's side, and it was safe to close his eyes again, because John had never opened his.

 _Warmth sliding up his back as John refits his hand between Ronon's shoulder blades with a low grumble that says he's not awake, but could be if needed. A glance at the clock, and it's almost 0400 hours, and John will have to leave soon anyway, so Ronon lets him be. Doesn't mind not falling asleep again, because it's nice, being awake, and here, and knowing it._

Some nights, there aren't any nightmares, and Ronon's got his boots back on and leans in to brush a light, quick kiss to John's hairline before exiting silently, wanting to guard his sleep. Reluctantly, too, because he's still tired and John's bed has become almost as comfortable as his own, but he's got something he needs to do in the 302 bay.

  
 **58\. Ghost in the Machine**

All John wanted was to sleep, to put some distance between today and tomorrow. He didn't want to see anyone.

 _Because if you don't see anyone, you can't lose them._

"Stop it," Ronon said, still standing in the doorway. "It's done with."

"How do you know if my report is finished or not?" John turned back to the screen, saving the file.

"You finished it about an hour ago, and then spent a while going over every non-option you like to think you had. Now you're just sulking."

"And you know this how?"

"Been down at the range, helping McKay with the new stunners, and you haven't radioed him for almost an hour about replicator tech." _He was trying to distract himself, too_ , Ronon didn't say.

"Ah." John rubbed absently at his neck; Rodney had seemed quiet, but he answered all his questions. _You weren't the only one that lost Weir, jackass_. "Shit." Ronon stepped further into the room, glancing from the Johnny Cash poster and back to the laptop, but he didn't look like he wanted to talk. Or give him advice. Or sympathy, either; he looked too worn for that himself. He just sat down on the bed next to him.

"You can keep pretending to work, if you want," was all he said, rolling his head on his shoulder to look at him sideways, tired, but trying to smile.

"I'm done," John admitted, unsure what it was that Ronon wanted, or what he had to give him. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Ronon pursed his lips and then nodded, untying his boots and toeing them off next to the bed while John closed out the program.

"Any requests?"

"Whatever you want," Ronon rubbed a hand over his face, tugged at his goatee a little. "Got anything with horses?"

One hour into the movie, and John wasn't following any of it, though he'd seen Young Guns a half dozen times before. He did, however, appreciate the distraction. It let them be together without having to acknowledge each other's thoughts, or their own.

 _Sacrifice_ and _failure_ and _Weir_ and _if only_ and _loss_.  
\---

The warmth of John's arm against his side wasn't _quite_ enough to melt away the knots in his spine, even as it lulled him into a complacent haze.

Ronon shifted again, trying to stretch his back without moving noticeably, but John felt it nonetheless, and moved forward, brushing against him, just a bit, to stop the movie.

Apparently, John hadn't really been watching it, either.

"You alright?" John asked, nodding his head down towards Ronon's back.

"Just a little sore."

"Want something for it?"

"I'm good," only that wasn't entirely true, and John knew it, but didn't press. Instead, he sighed, and pulled Ronon's face closer, kissing his chapped lips. When Ronon turned towards him, finally ready for the contact, it sent a spasm down his back that he thought he could hide.

"Bullshit," John murmured, brushing a careful hand across the Ronon's back. "I've got an idea," he pulled away, setting the laptop aside. "Shower. Let's go."

Ronon squinted at him, suspicious, but stood and followed him slowly into the bathroom, where the lights were too bright, the tile was cold, and the water was already running.

He stood in the doorway and watched John unbutton his shirt, pale skin being revealed at the hollow of his throat, then his chest. Familiar.

Pulling off his shirt, he indicated that Ronon should follow suit, catching the grimace that flit across his face before trying to pull his arms out of the sleeves. Then John was there, crossing the small space between them, and tugging lightly on the material himself.

"Let me take care of you for _ten_ fucking minutes," John growled, aggravation undermined by the caution he used pulling the sweater over his head, by the kiss that found him before his hair was freed.

Tossing the sweater aside, he shoved at Ronon's shoulder until he turned, and Ronon let himself be manhandled. John huffed at what he found, reaching out to examine him. The center of his back was a massive, solid bruise, warm under John's fingers as they slid away.

Ronon caught John's grimace as he turned back, but ignored it, in favor of pulling the rest of his clothes off. As much as John would let him, anyway.

Eventually, they made it into the shower, Ronon ushering John in first, and following with a grin that turned into a laugh when he was jostled underneath the warm water.

"Just leave it on your back for a minute," John instructed, pressing against him as he reached around to adjust the showerhead.

"Yeah. Because showers were something invented on Earth." He grabbed the washcloth. "Warm water, too."

"Shut up and hand me the soap."

"What's soap?" he deadpanned, handing it over.

John lathered up the washcloth before pressing it against Ronon's shoulder, sliding it across his chest with a slowness that had nothing to do with getting clean. Like the movie that hadn't been about watching the movie.

He reached out, wanting to touch John, not knowing where to start.  
\---

Ronon's head was tilted back, and he looked back at John through half-lidded eyes. The water was warm, almost hot, and the lather slid over Ronon's shoulders beautifully. John ghosted the cloth down over his back, mindful of the bruises. Followed the suds down to Ronon's ass, the backs of his thighs.

Ronon's hands came up, tight on his shoulders, sliding down John's chest. John let himself be pushed carefully against the shower wall, let Ronon's mouth trail wet kisses along the side of his face. Ronon let out a contented sigh, and John wanted to hear it again, wanted to taste it. He turned his face towards Ronon's.

Ronon's lips parted with a moan, yielding, as John pulled him closer. His hand slid gingerly across his back as he brushed the cloth down the expanse of Ronon's chest, along his ribcage, across his stomach. His mouth broke off to let Ronon pant against his skin, into his neck, to lap at the water there.

Blinking water out of his eyes, he opened them to watch Ronon's face as he ghosted the cloth against Ronon's erection. Once, then again, as Ronon's hips nudged his own, swiveling closer as a shuddering breath brushed his ear.

John could feel the fingers digging into his backside, slipping away before appearing again as Ronon tried to wrap his fingers around both of them, growling in frustration at the awkward angle as John edged away.

"Relax," he smirked. "I've got you."

He brushed the cloth down again, over Ronon's cock, then under and behind, heat throbbing against his wrist. He watched the rivulets of suds trailing down the inside of Ronon's thighs, and up again, back over his hip. Ronon's head was thrown back, eyes vacantly squinting. A little off kilter, like he was trying not to fall, like he needed John to ground him.

John let himself grind out his responding twitch against Ronon's thigh, nuzzling along his throat and grazing his teeth against his ear, dropping the cloth to the shower floor.

"Want to take this to the bed before we fall down?"

"Yeah," Ronon growled, pushing John out of the way so he could rinse off, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel from the rack before wiping them both down, a little haphazardly.

He was shoved towards the bed, Ronon following close behind him, then on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.  
\---

Ronon started kissing down John's throat, moving on to his chest, here and there getting little tastes of John's clean-smelling skin. His tongue flickered over nipples, and he needed to scrape his teeth against that stomach, feel John's cock twitch against the hollow of his throat.

His hand slid forward brushing along John's thigh. John was warm and solid and his skin was sweet under Ronon's lips. He nipped at John's hip, licking a bit into the hollow there, and John was _vibrating_ with barely-restrained need.

"Relax. I've got you."

John's arms were pressed against the bed, the sheets damp from their shower, restraining himself from thrusting against Ronon, but just barely.

The groan that erupted at the first swipe of his tongue against the inside of John's hip sent a hard rush of through Ronon, robbing him of air and setting up an insistent thrumming need, deep in his core.

His hands found John's hips again, pressing against them as he dropped his mouth down, slowly tracing up along the underside of John's cock. The resulting spasm could have thrown him, if he hadn't been ready for it. Instead, he took a deep breath, John's scent heavy in the back of his mouth, and slid his lips around the crown.

" _Jesus_ … _fuck_ ," John whined, and Ronon steadied himself before sliding down further, the weight heavy on his tongue, soft against his lips, and thick against his throat. He slid off again with a choked cough, panting against John's thigh.

"Come here," John insisted, leaning up a little.

"Sorry,"

"Hey, no," John murmured as he leaned in to chase his own taste inside Ronon's mouth, the frenzy calming for just a moment, and Ronon began to relax as their tongues swirled together.

"I want," he stopped himself with a gasp, hoped John hadn't heard him, because this was something they'd only talked about in theory. He didn't want to talk practicalities, didn't want to stop, just wanted to feel John, feel _alive_ with John.

"Yeah?" John's voice was flushed, happy, a little off balance. "What do you want?"

Ronon shook his head in answer, tried to wave it off again, but John ground against him, skin catching against skin, and he was so close, only not at all, there was still too much space, too much distraction in the air between them.

John pulled his body back a little, closing the distance between them again, and spoke into his mouth. "Ronon?"

"Yeah. I just need," and Ronon was pretty sure that he was already so flushed that John wouldn't notice him blushing, but he found himself looking down, away, like he knew this was wrong or that he was diving out of his own comfort zone and expected John to call him on it. "Want. Everything." He took another breath and tried again, the word so small it couldn't contain everything he meant. "You."

" _Shit_." John gasped, understanding anyway. "Yeah."  
\---

John was too close. He had to bite his lip- hard, from the bloody taste of it- to stop himself from coming. Had to breathe deeply and try to think of anything but what it meant. Anything but Ronon, lying beneath him. Not just offering, but...

He took another breath and opened his eyes, waited for Ronon to open his.

"You sure?" But he wanted to ask, _why_? _Why now_?

"Yeah." Ronon ground up against him a little, accepting the kiss John pressed into his mouth. An apology, for having to lean away, pull back.

John kept his eyes on Ronon as he opened the nightstand drawer, feeling around for the stashed bottle of lubricant, and lay back down, sliding a leg between Ronon's, pulling him close enough to speak against his lips.

"You tell me to stop, and we stop. Do something else, okay? Don't let this hurt you."

Ronon nodded, sliding his arm around to press against John's back. "'Kay. Just. Hurry."

"Touch yourself," John's whispered voice was blushing, and he guided Ronon's hand down before pulling back, pumping some lube onto his own fingers, rubbing them together to warm it as he watched Ronon begin to stroke, lightly.  
\---

He felt John nudging at his leg, but then nothing, for a moment, and began to balk at the exposure. _Too open, too naked._

John seemed to sense this, though, and lay back down, solid and real and with him, kissing his shoulder as his hand brushed down against his own, and then under, shocking and cool and slick against his skin.

"Shh," John whispered. "It's okay," and a finger was circling his entrance, pressing teasingly against it. "Try to relax."

" _You_ try and relax," Ronon growled, but he tried to slow his breathing, letting his head fall back, and closing his eyes. Let himself feel everything.

John against him, hard against his hip, solid and warm. His own hand, stroking, leisurely, and John's hand below, a finger pressing against him, too insistent now to be teasing. Pressure, a little strange, a little too careful to be painful. Sliding, tight, and inside. Slow small movements moving deeper, massaging the hurt away.  
\---

John eased out, again, and added more lube, and started to work three fingers into Ronon. A little faster, now. A little more deliberately. Finding a rhythm and picking it up.

Ronon was panting harsh, keening cries and his face, hell, his entire golden body, was beginning to vibrate with frustrated tension, but he was getting hard again, under the weight of his own hand.

John slowed his pace, watched his wrist twisting to find the spot that made Ronon jerk, that made his breath hitch, that almost sent John over the edge.

He backed off, slightly, avoiding hitting that spot again, and listened to Ronon try to pull himself back from the brink.  
\---

John hadn't lied. It _did_ hurt.

Ronon's throat was too tight to allow air to pass into lungs too tense to expand, and for one vertiginous moment, he was sure he was going to die.

The pressure was unbearable, searing, and then, after an eternity, John paused above him and _in_ him, it wasn't. He opened his eyes briefly, closing them again as John swooped in to kiss the sweat from his temple, and remembered to breathe.

A few moments more, and he swam up, managing to reach the surface again, his mind reeling with the intimate connection, with the sense that _this_ was how it was supposed to feel- all encompassing, nothing between them but their bodies.

When he opened his eyes, John was looking at him with such naked awe, such flushed care, that he couldn't begin to assign names to the feelings that surged to respond.

It was too much, and it was too good.

He moved against John, once, felt him shift inside of him, and this was what it always felt like, what it would always be, this overwhelming amazement, and then John pulled back, and thrust- slowly, _again_ , so slowly- back in.

 _More_ , he found himself thinking, or maybe he said it, because John repeated the movement, a little faster this time, pausing inside of him as he shifted, slightly, wrapping Ronon in his slickened hand, and Ronon couldn't feel his legs, or his face, he couldn't feel anything that wasn't John on him or around him or in him, couldn't remember anything else. John stuttered inside him, close, and Ronon felt him shift again, and nothing he saw made any sense to him anymore.

Deeper, and harder, and it wasn't quite enough, and then lightening was coiling in his belly and striking in his spine. He felt himself begin to spill over John's hand almost distantly, thrashing with the life of it all. He opened his eyes to let the lights settle into the shape of John's face, frozen and intense above him, felt him pulsing inside of him, holding himself over Ronon's body like he was trying not to fall through it.

John eased himself out, gently, and collapsed into Ronon's arms. They found each other with hands that couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop trying to calm each other through their convulsions.

John's arms were tight around him as he felt himself come down, felt himself half remember the things he needed to say to John, but he couldn't stop shaking and his breathing was all wrong and he couldn't move his lips; he couldn't feel them.

Eventually, he felt his heartbeat returning to a sane pace, heard the hysteria falling away from John's breathing. John murmured something, at some point, and Ronon might have responded, but he wasn't sure.

Interminable time, and then a brief kiss to his temple, to his lips, and John was beginning to shift his weight, to kneel next to him, to tug weakly at his arms. He rose, nodding, and surrendered to John's pull as it led him to the darkened bathroom.

His mind was gone, his body weak, and his legs were unsteady as John helped him back into the shower, rinsing them both off in between embraces, contact in the dark, until Ronon was sure could stand on his own again.

They dried off haphazardly, and Ronon dragged John back to their bed, dragged the blanket over them, and dragged them both to sleep.

  
 **59\. The Shrine**

Keller said that Rodney was sleeping, that she would call them in when he woke. Sheppard was a little relieved- not because he believed McKay was sleeping- he'd kept his radio tuned to the infirmary staff's frequency and knew better. He knew that Keller was stalling, but didn't disagree with her reasons.

Besides, there was no way in hell Ronon's aggression wouldn't terrify the hell out of Rodney right now. He followed him towards the gym, stretching his arms and shoulders as he walked. He wouldn't have much time to prepare before trying to talk him down.

"Tell me why this isn't worth doing," was all Ronon said by way of greeting, arms sliding into position, starting to circle, waiting for John to issue the first attack.

He stepped into a ready stance and took a breath. "You know the ten thousand wraith there? They could harm _any_ of us."

"We should be able to get through. Cloak the jumper."

 _Won't work coming out of the gate, but…_ "That's only part of the issue." He feinted left a little too late and got tagged in the shoulder. "We don't know what's going to happen when you're on the ground with the wraith." He stepped back out of range before Ronon could decide to be insulted.

Ronon stilled, for a moment. "I'm not like that Manchurian Candidate guy, and we never know what's going to happen on the ground with the wraith. Don't fucking worry about that." His stillness proved to be the distraction he'd meant it to be, but John blocked his elbow from connecting, and spun him out.

"It's my _job_ to worry. Anyhow. The real problem-" his arm was pinned, uncomfortably but not dangerously, and he caught his breath, the words coming out in a rush. "We have a huge risk, a bunch of stories, and a field trip you took when you were six."

"Believe what you want, but I'm not wrong." Something in Ronon's tone was more painful than the lock he was releasing Sheppard from.

"It's Keller's call. She's working on it."

"There's nothing she can _do_ ," Ronon was emphatic, or possibly breathless with the exertion of flipping Sheppard down to the mat. He knelt over him as he lay on the mat, eyes still burning frustration.

John closed his eyes, breathing heavy, knowing Ronon wouldn't attack until he was on his feet again. "She might find something. Something that does Rodney one better than giving him one day and then _killing_ him."

"He's dying either way, Sheppard. You want him to meet his death as a man, or a child?"

"You don't know that," Sheppard growled, getting to his feet, too annoyed to answer the question.

"Why not?" Ronon's chest was rising and falling a little faster than normal, but the terseness in his reply wasn't because he was out of breath.

"You're not a doctor, for one."

"Your doctors don't know everything." Ronon walked to the rack in the corner and grabbed a towel, tossing it to John. Sheppard was pretty sure the change he heard meant what he thought it did. _Us against them_ becoming _you against me_.

Wiping his face down, wondering if his shoulder was going to bruise, and if the towel was supposed to be a peace offering, or just habit. "And you do?"

"Your people have only been in this galaxy for a few years. Mine? Teyla's? We've been here for thousands."

"In ever dwindling numbers," he muttered, unable to stop his eyes from rolling. Ronon's damned pride could be regained far more easily than McKay's life, and they both knew it.

Ronon looked like he was going to hit him again, without pulling his punches. "Fuck you."

John stepped into his space anyway, forcing him to meet his glare.

"Look, Ronon. You _don't_ run this expedition. You do _not_ decide which missions are safe and which are not. You do _not_ decide when and where we are going to risk the lives of our people. We do _not_ leave our people behind, and we _do_ _not_ _kill_ _them_." He snorted, throwing his hands up sarcastically. "And if we're staking claims here, then McKay is one of _ours_ , and we'll handle our own."

With that, he spun on his heel, and left Ronon standing alone n the gym.  
\---

"I talked to Jeannie," Ronon said, taking another bite of food and glancing around the mess like he wasn't particularly interested in any reply Sheppard might make.

"I know. She talked to Keller. Jeannie decided to go along with your plan, and now we have to risk six lives in the morning. Can't wait."

"Whatever."

"Look. We're going with it. I've got a plan that should get us in there without drawing fire, and as long as it works, I figure all we have to watch out for are any patrols, and hope that the wraith haven't set up shop in the caves. We're going for it, and I'll be fine with it once we get back. But listen. That's not what I sat down here to talk about."

"What is it?"

"After yesterday, Woolsey's talking about changing up the teams. Splitting us up."

"Is he actually going to do it?"

"Depends. Right now it's all riding on my ability to keep you in line."

" _I'm_ out of line." Ronon snorted in disbelief.

"Trying to bully him into killing McKay in full view of the gate techs?" Sheppard spoke into his coffee, wondering if this was really what was going to do them in. "Not wise."

Ronon seemed to consider it, apparently uninterested in his own thoughts. "I'll talk to him later," he eventually said, noncommittally, when he caught Sheppard watching him intently from over his coffee.

"Okay. Cool." Sheppard tried to think of anything else to say, but found nothing. They finished their meal in silence. Soon, Ronon was standing, picking up his tray, and heading out, trailing a vague _later_ behind him.  
\---

Sheppard scanned ahead, checking again to make sure their path wasn't cutting too close to the tree line, ready to rein McKay in again if need be. Listening to the two sets of footsteps behind him, automatically inserting Ronon's silent ones into the pattern.

They had barely spoken in weeks, now. They still ran together, they still ate together.

Ronon still came to his door, and John still went to his. They watched a lot of movies, sitting on the bed, not looking at each other. One would pretend to fall asleep before it was over, and the other would go back to his room.

Neither could honestly apologize, or needed the other to do so first. It was a mind-numbing stasis- not bad enough to fall apart completely, not good enough to need an immediate fix.  
\---

It was the third in a chain of uneventful missions, and for a third time, Ronon was so perfectly behaved that it made the rest of them nervous.

 _After that first mission, McKay insisted that Jennifer test him for the parasite, told her to watch out for any lapses in memory. It had earned Ronon a night in the infirmary. He'd been visibly annoyed, but bore it without complaint. Or any other unnecessary words.  
_  
"Shut up, McKay," he heard Ronon growl from the back of their formation, with the harshness usually reserved for dangerous ops where silence mattered. Here, though, there was no immediate threat. McKay knew this, of course, and took it as a perverse invitation to take it up a notch. Sheppard rolled his eyes as more talk of allergens and sunlight and heat drifted up towards him.

Teyla managed to distract McKay, asking him what the weak energy readings back at the burned out village had meant, and letting his words settle back into a calmer lecturing tone.

Sheppard let them pass by, before falling back to Ronon's position, keeping their six. Still looking ahead at and beyond the other two, he stepped awkwardly over some rocks in the path, and bumped shoulders with Ronon.

Looking up, he met his eyes, like he'd forgotten that they weren't doing that anymore.  "Everything all right back here?" Asking the familiar question felt so normal that he was pretty sure he was taking a liberty. That it was all finally going to come tumbling down, one way or the other.

"He's going to get us all killed some day if he doesn't learn to be quiet," was Ronon's response, but his tone was slightly self-deprecating, and a smile ghosted over his face. It was about as apologetic as he ever got without holding a blade to his own throat.

"Maybe." They both knew an outright denial was pointless; something, sometime would prove to be their downfall, and Sheppard knew Ronon wasn't serious about the accusation, just unwilling to express his concern in any other way. "But not today."

They walked a while longer like that, quiet, but a little less ill at ease. When Ronon's hand had reached out before slipping off into the forest to scout ahead, it wasn't the instinctual warning rap of his knuckles meant to make John take notice, but the gentle brush of his hand against John's, telling him that everything was fine, that he'd check back in a bit. That for the moment, everyone could be cautiously content.

  
 **60\. Whispers**

"…that it's good news in the long run, but we don't want anyone having a black mark following them to their next posting in the meantime." Sheppard leaned back in his chair, unobtrusively trying to check his watch.

"And that everyone should keep in mind that this is all hinging on an election that hasn't been decided yet. Think that will do?" Lorne finished, adding the last details to the talking points.

"You don't think saying 'it's good news in the long run' is a little telling?"

"Your concern, not mine, sir." Sheppard smirked, conceding the point, but Lorne went on. "If it were just airmen, then maybe I'd watch it. But the entire city's going to be there, and the international contingent's been pretty vocal. Anyone noticing will just think you're kowtowing to the civilians."

"Which was Woolsey's entire plan for this town hall meeting in the first place." Sheppard nodded, satisfied.

"Right. So, is that it, sir?"

"Yeah, I think we're-"

He was cut off by the alarms. "Unscheduled offworld activation," he muttered along with the announcement as Lorne stepped aside, following him into the control room. "What is it?"

"We're getting Major Teldy's IDC," Banks explained, resetting some controls, and opening up communications.  
\---

"But, ah…you sure it's not your turn?" Lorne wasn't as cool and calm as he usually was, but Sheppard wasn't going to call him on it in the control room.

"I'm sure you're sounding awfully reluctant to be sent out on a mission with Major  _Teldy_ ," he muttered, stepping back towards his office.

"It's _not_ -" Lorne deflated, glancing around for listeners. "We had a fight. Last night. Not sure what it was about, but I'm pretty sure she won."

"Ah." Sheppard sighed, nodding, and kissed his video golf tournament goodbye. "Okay. I got this one. I'm going to grab Carson and…" he trailed off, nodding towards the gate. "In the _meantime_ , talk Woolsey out of making us wear dress blues for the town hall thing. Nothing kills off a community round-table like dressing for a funeral."  
\---

The next day, stepping back through into a silent gateroom, Sheppard didn't spare a glance at the somber crowd as he helped transfer Captain Vega's covered body to the waiting stretcher. He rubbed a hand over his face and tried not to watch as the medics wheeled her away, feeling vague and useless.

Movement up in the control center caught his eye. It was Ronon, ushering Amelia Banks out into the hallway, her shoulders shaking, hands over her face. Their exit hadn't quite disturbed the quiet, and Sheppard spared a thought as to how Ronon had known, again, exactly where he'd be needed.

He caught Teldy's arm as she made to head towards the briefing room. "I'll handle the debrief. Take the day, all of you, and let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," she said, still not looking him in the eye, and he knew better than to force it. She had lost someone under her command today. So had he, but hearing that now wouldn't mean anything to her. It was her team, not his. There was nothing he could do, but he caught Lorne's eye and nodded after her.

 _Go_.

He took his time in the locker room, buying time before reporting to the infirmary. He barely noticed when blood was drawn, and answered every question by rote. Keller didn't try to engage him, and for that, he was mutely thankful.

He was still trying to wrap his head around being back in the world of the living, but mourning. It wasn't the city he'd left yesterday.

His debrief obviously wasn't as thorough as Woolsey would have liked, and he knew it. He would have to talk to Teldy's team before submitting the final report, protocol more than anything. There was nothing Sheppard could do about that.

There wasn't much he could do about much of anything, it seemed.

He went back to his room, took a shower, and lay down, staring at the ceiling for what felt like a very long time.

Eventually, Ronon got him on the radio. "Sheppard. You want to stop by my quarters for a minute? Gotta talk to you."

He closed his eyes, wondered if he could pretend not to have heard. "On my way."  
\---

He wasn't expecting to see Amelia Banks sitting in Ronon's room, her eyes too cried-out to be looking so ashamed.

"Took me an hour to talk her into this, so listen up." Ronon explained, sitting down on the floor, giving Sheppard the other chair.

"Hey. What's going on?"

She sniffed, tried to smirk, but her face stumbled. "What's going on is, Alicia Vega is dead. And- and I know, you all did everything you could." She nodded to herself and frowned at the floor, taking pains to speak plainly. "These things happen."

She trailed off, eyes darting almost to his before diverting to Ronon's, unsure. Sheppard caught his nod out of the corner of her eye, but ignored it. It wasn't for him. He waited for her to continue.

"I don't have the right to ask for this, I know the protocols. I'm not-" she broke off, shaking her head, frustrated, and tried again. "She was a friend," her face threatened to crumble, but she held it at bay. "And I want to go to her funeral," she finished, and the terror in her voice told John everything he needed to know.

He could feel Ronon's intent stare burning into him, but didn't need to acknowledge it to know what he was trying to communicate. He blinked, and shook himself.

"Of course, we'll work something out, okay?"

The reassurance seemed to work; a fraction of the tension eased from her frame.

"I'll have to clear it with Woolsey," he said, not missing the tightening of her jaw, "but you can go. I'll work something out." Sitting back a moment, he pieced his thoughts together. "How, ah. How under the radar does this need to be?"

"Guess it doesn't matter, now that she's gone." A bitter smile slid across her mouth, and she ducked her head in apology. Possibly in avoidance. Sheppard nodded, hating that he was forcing her to go through this, and waited. "But there's nothing left to risk but her name, now."  
\---

Banks stayed a while longer, and Sheppard promised her that he'd have a plan by morning. Eventually, she stood, wiping at her face again, and nodded to the both of them.

"Thanks for understanding." If she hadn't been more terrified, Sheppard might have been more certain of the depth of her meaning, but he wasn't ready to confirm it. "And for putting up with…all this," she waved at herself, vaguely embarrassed. "I need to try and get some sleep."

John waited until the door closed before sliding down onto the floor next to Ronon, shifting over and leaning back on his hands.

"You tell her about us?"

Ronon shrugged, but before John could voice his irritation, he spoke. "I didn't want to." His voice was quiet, and he laced his fingers around his knees before looking at John through his hair, like he was trying to gauge his response. "I wanted to ask you first, but there wasn't really any time. I didn't want to leave her alone."

When John said nothing, Ronon continued. "Hell, you saw her. She's the last person who would ever say anything."

"I know." John nodded. "It's okay." He reached out to stroke the hair out of Ronon's face, his smile more reassuring than he felt. "And hey, who knows. Apparently, some of the rules about that might be changing. It's election day next week."

"So what's that mean?"

"One candidate is against DADT, wants to get rid of it. I don't know what he plans to do _instead_ , but that's beside the point. We're bringing it up at the meeting tomorrow night." He paused, shaking his head, speaking almost to himself. "Guess it doesn't matter about the dress blues. Looks like we'll already be in them."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Something from yesterday morning."

"So what's it mean? The policy change?"

"Even if the rule changes, I'd still have to worry about Article 15. It's not like we could start making out in the hallways. But they couldn't take my post if they found out that I was gay."

"As long as it's all _theoretical_ , not applied," Ronon intoned, rolling his eyes in under-appreciation for the finer points of Earth military policy.

"Okay, that looks like Teyla, and sounds like McKay."

Ronon grinned, leaning back against the chair, his face towards the ceiling, eyes drifting shut. "Banks, actually." He sighed, trying to decide if he wanted to say what he was thinking. "You know, it turns out I was the only one in the city who knew about them?"

"Is that why you were in the control room?" Ronon nodded. "How long've you known?"

"Found out a few months back. Don't really know her all that well, but she and Vega were together for over three years. And no one else knew."

"It seems strange, when it's not us," the words felt ridiculous, and John wasn't sure that they said what he wanted them to, but he was too tired to clarify.

Ronon's hand found John's shoulder, steady and firm, but his smile was slight, almost a frown. He was still looking vaguely at the ceiling. "She's exactly who I would be if it was you."

"Yeah." John didn't know what to say to that, either, but he nodded when Ronon turned to look at him.

"So, I'm just saying. You'd better not die, John Sheppard, because I don't know how I'd talk my way into your funeral."

  
 **61\. The Queen**

Ronon waited until Keller was busy with McKay before stepping into the infirmary. It wasn't busy, and it was only a moment before Dr. Ryerson waved him over and nodded for him to take a seat.

"Take any other hits?" He swabbed the cut on his forehead, cleaning away the dried blood, and examining it briefly before sticking a butterfly bandage over it.

"No." Ronon let him check his eyes and throat, and draw his blood, pretending not to listen to Keller talk to McKay like he knew nothing.

"No bruises or collapsed lungs I should worry about?" Ryerson was already preparing to pull his gloves off, but paused, watching him carefully.

"No." Ronon started to stand. "We done?"

"Keep it clean, come back if anything falls off, and we'll let you know if your blood is full of drugs, disease, or robots."

"Sure thing," he said, and he was almost out the door when it happened.

"Ronon! Wait up!" Keller was calling after him.

He turned, schooled the _I-knew-this-was-coming_ out of his expression. "Hey. What's up?"

"Oh, just thought I'd say hello, since I hardly see you around anymore. Seems like Ryerson's been stealing all my business," she joked.

"You're usually busy by the time I get here," he said, nodding back towards McKay, who was straightening out his jacket and already more interested in the data tablet than his surroundings. "That's all."  
\---

Sheppard woke at the sound, his hand going for the gun on the nightstand before he recognized the sound of the window sliding open.

He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face, and watched Ronon clamber into the room.

"Hey,"

"Hey," Ronon responded. "Don't get up."

"Wasn't going to. What time is it?" He lay back down and closed his eyes. He could hear the window sliding shut again, but he didn't hear the boots falling from Ronon's feet.  
"You're barefoot."

"Left them on the balcony downstairs. Easier climb."

"So you keep saying. I know we're being quiet about this, but you _can_ use the door, you know. You don't need to keep risking it."

"You're the one who installed the handholds."

"In case the city goes into _lockdown_ again. Not so you could break your _neck_."

"If I fall, I'll only go, um," his brow furrowed in concentration as he slid into bed next to John, trying to convert the measurements in his head, "five meters or so."

"Still, and just trust me on this one, balcony scenes don't end well."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

"Whatever. What's up?"

"Just went to see Teyla."

John groaned. "You broke quarantine?"

"Keller's only doing it so everyone _else_ can sleep better, and won't have to look at her. No one here wants to face what they're doing."

John wiped his hand over his face, forced himself not to ask Ronon how he got through. Who he bribed. Though he should have. "How is she?"

"In a lot of pain. Her eyes've changed, and she's starting to look...If there's enough DNA to make her look like a wraith, what's it going to do to her head?"

"I don't know," John muttered, and he knew that the question deserved a better answer than that, but didn't have one. "Sometimes you have to become the enemy, I guess."

"No. Sometimes, you have to think like them. Surrender yourself, and you've failed."

"Fair point. You _do_ know Teyla's fine with this, don't you?"

"She's _not_. She's locked up in the infirmary, alone, in pain, and she sent family away so her son never remembers this. She's talking like she's not going to be there to explain it to him."

"Shit."

"But she believes Keller when she says there's nothing to worry about."

"So?"

Ronon shrugged in response.

"That not good enough for you? You trust Keller enough to let her stitch you up, don't you?" John leaned up on his elbows, just enough to catch something flit across Ronon's scowling eyes.

Ronon fell back against the pillow, rolling to face the ceiling, his face serious. "When McKay fell into the second childhood, if Beckett had been there, he might not have gone with it, but he would have at least stopped to ask why we were saying that the shrine worked. She won't listen to stuff she doesn't already agree with." He swallowed before continuing more quietly, evidently embarrassed. "But now she's letting _Todd_ tell turn Teyla into a _wraith_."

"Keller's worried, but she's doing what she can. She's doing her job. And it was Teyla's decision. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge."

"You did?"

"Of _course_ I did!" He curled an arm up around Ronon's shoulder lightly in some semblance of reassurance, to stop himself from smacking him upside the head. "It's got to be hard enough she's got to deal with the wraith DNA that she has, being able to sense them. _This_ has got to be one of her worst nightmares."

"Oh." Ronon deflated, melting against John's side again. "Okay."

"Oh?" John laughed in frustration. "Hang on. It's three in the morning, and you just now wanted to pick a fight with me?"

"You're the only other person awake to fight with," Ronon reasoned, finally smiling.

"I am now, jackass," John settled into the blankets again, surreptitiously reading Ronon's face. For all his joking tones, he still wore a worried, annoyed scowl, and there was no way John was awake enough to deal with this right now. "For the record, if you're looking to fight, climbing into bed with the enemy doesn't really have any tactical advantage."

"And yet we're making deals with the wraith anyway..."

"Touché. You win. If you're right, you get to shoot Todd in the morning, so there's something to look forward to. Now shut up and get some sleep."

"Not tired."

"Then climb out the window and let me sleep."

"You said it was dangerous."

"Yeah, but I really don't care if you fall anymore."

"Love you too."

 _A year ago, Ronon would have shouted about this. Two years ago, he might have shot Keller. Tonight, he came in here, bitched for a while, and stayed._

Lying there with Ronon felt surprisingly domestic. As he drifted off to sleep, John's last thought was a vague wish, sent off to somewhere. Hoping that they weren't taming the fight right out of him.

  
 **62\. Tracker**

Some days, Sheppard needed to push Ronon back into himself.

The mess was crowded and the sun was coming in a little too brightly. Sheppard squinted through the glare, getting a beam on Ronon over his coffee.

"Keller's going to M33-985. Just some standard medical follow-ups in the village. I want you to go along, make sure things don't get out of control."

Ronon swallowed his food before fixing him with a stare so deliberate, it was clear he'd rather be glowering. "Why?"

"Because it's McKay's day off, and I've already told her you'd be delighted. And because you need to get your issues with her sorted out."

"We're fine."

"Great. It won't be a problem, then, will it?" Sheppard smirked, glancing over at the chow line, watching Teyla and Kanaan laughing about something Torren was doing.

"I was going to go with Teldy's team out to M46-559," Ronon explained, his eyes following Sheppard's to the Athosians, but finding no help there.

"She's got plenty of backup. Keller's going solo. It's just a round of checkups. It's not like she's not going to be turning the people into wraith or anything."

Ronon huffed. "What are you doing today?"

"I've got a meeting with Woolsey and Caldwell that should last until lunch, and a paperwork backlog that's going to kill the rest of my day. We could trade, if you'd prefer the conference room and my office to being…"

"Anywhere else? Got it. I'm gonna go find Keller," Ronon stood, apparently resolved. "Need to figure out when we're shippin' out." He grinned, picking up his tray, and made his way towards the doors.  
\---

A dull headache was settling deep behind his eyes when he finally left his office. He wanted nothing more than his shower, and then bed, but he hadn't seen Ronon since he'd come through the gate an hour or so before, carrying a child in his arms.

He was about to reach Ronon's room, but Moore and Dr. Hersch came around the corner, so he continued on down the hall for a while, following the circuit back past the transporters, flicking distractedly at the file folder he carried, the picture of a bored administrator looking for a cosignature. His second pass was clear, and even with the delay, he arrived before Ronon got there. He let himself in.

He decided to sit on one of the chairs, not sure what kind of mood Ronon would be in. When he'd passed by in the gateroom, John could tell he was downshifting, on-edge becoming bone-weary. Maybe a little pissed off.

Sheppard might not have been able to read it on his face when he'd shown up, but at least now he could give him the option to talk about it. Or not. But coming across another runner must have thrown him.

The door slid open, and Ronon trudged through, grim and tense. His expression lightened, though, when he saw John sprawled out, flipping through the file folder on his lap.

"Hey," Ronon dropped his coat onto the other chair while leaning down and taking John's mouth in a brief kiss, before sitting in the other chair, taking his gun out of the holster as he did so.

"How was it?"

"Fine." His eyes flickered up, and he reached over to set the gun on his bed. _Do we have to do this now?_

"We're doing the debriefing in the morning. McKay looked beat, Keller looked beat, the kid looked beat, and you look like you want to beat something up, but you're too… tired."

Ronon snorted. "It was weird." He fell silent, again, and John was trying to decide whether or not to push for more, when he started to explain, leaning down to remove his boots. "Whenever we went looking for one of the runners, we were too late. Really wasn't expecting to just run into one."

"That ever happen? When you were on the run?"

"Maybe. One guy, on this planet with nothing else, looked at me." Ronon paused, trying to find the words to describe it. "I looked at him. Don't think either of us really cared which one of us was going to die. Just waited to see who was going to shoot or run first. Didn't say anything, just refilled my water and went on my way."

"When was that?"

Ronon shrugged, standing up and going to his desk, picking up what Sheppard had thought was a gnarly looking mouse pad, leather, covered in scratches.

"Would have been about here," he pointed out a few of the markings. "I killed three wraith that week, and I didn't even know if they were mine or not."

"These are marking the days?" John took the leather and looked at it. It was darker in some areas than others, though any dirt had long since been worked into the grain. Flipping it over, he could see that it had, at one point, served as a gauntlet. Something he would have worn, would have carried, for seven years.

"Yeah." Ronon sat back and let John study it. They never talked about his days as a runner when it wasn't useful or needed. Ronon wanted to forget about it as much as possible, and John didn't want to remind him. But this felt like an invitation. John could ask, now.

'Longer notches mean anything?"

"Wraith kills."

"Huh. And what's this?" He indicated a series of cross-hatchings, all in a row, towards one edge of the leather.

"That was when I came here." _That's when everything changed._

"And the horizontal lines?"

"It's when I stopped. Carved 'em with the knives you gave me."

John glanced back at Ronon, who was still staring at the leather. "Why did you stop?"

"Don't know. When I was running, it seemed important to prove that I was still alive, that I was holding out so long. Didn't seem so important when I knew that I was. Figured that my birthday was a good day to stop doing it."

"Right on." John didn't have anything more he could say, and silence began to fill the room.

Ronon stroked a hand over his goatee, smiling humorlessly. "You know Keller disabled Kiryk's tracking device?"

"The runner? McKay said. That's cool." John passed him the leather, and he tossed it back onto the desk. It nudged the mouse and the monitor turned itself on with a low hum.

"Yeah," Ronon drummed his fingers on his armrest. "I didn't think she'd do it. I don't know why."

"She's not actually the monster you think she is."

"I know," Ronon started, but he didn't finish.

"You done being a jerk to her now?"

"Guess so." His grin returned in full force. "I set McKay on her trail."

"What do you mean?"

"McKay has _romantic intentions_ , and thinks I want her, so now he'll fight for her."

"You sure about that?" John wasn't sure which part he was questioning.

"He challenged me over her. 'May the best man win,' he said."

"You couldn't just tell him you weren't interested?"

"I could have, but…" his hand wavered in the air for a moment, and he didn't explain further.

"But the only reason he's ever given a damn about the Nobel is to make sure all the other assholes don't get it first," John finished. "It makes sense. Don't tell Keller I said that, by the way." John closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "And don't string her along, either."  
\---

Ronon sat on the edge of his bed, arms on his knees, trying to stop his mind from tricking his heart into action.

It was irritating as hell, because his head knew why he was having the thoughts, and he knew which ones would be coming next, but he'd never learned how to stop them once they started.

The thoughts would start roiling, the same old fears, over and over. That his death would only be met with the laughter of the wraith as it fed, all allies long since lost. That he was losing memories, but not enough of the bad ones.

 _Two fingers, snapped to uselessness. They will probably never heal properly._

Kindling almost too wet to burn, weighing heat and light against smoke and wraith.

Stealing from the dead. Trying to remember what people used money for, and why they couldn't carry something more useful, like blades. Ammunition. Food.

Stepping through the gate onto an empty world. Flat. No cover. And trying to run to the horizon anyway, a child's mistake.

Friendless solitude, needing it more than the terror of contact, and a gnarled hand reaching-

Fingers stroked down his spine, settling weakly against the small of his back. "Lie down, sleep," John mumbled, only on the verge of waking.

Ronon wanted to go outside, run the catwalks, then down to the pier, wanted to feel the air cool against his skin. Wanted to hear the waves rushing to spray water into the air all around him. Wanted to have a reason to stay awake that wasn't inside his own head. Wanted to sit in the half-lit mess hall until the sun rose, wanted the city to come back to life around him. Wanted to run through the gate, wanted a reason to do so.

John stirred, again, and Ronon lay down, not wanting to wake him. He pulled the blankets up and tried to match his breaths to John's, tried to follow him back into calm sleep.

 _Running towards the gate, the wraith not far enough behind, suddenly on a market road. People, up ahead. And maybe they don't speak pidgin, or it's been so long since he's spoken that maybe he's got the words wrong. He knows they're staring, but can't stop to explain. Nothing more than, "The wraith are coming. Leave!"_

A few older women, matronly types cluck after the poor madman, while a stern official of some sort growls about their scouts knowing nothing, that they don't have time for this idiocy, but he's already too far past to hear anymore. The wraith are closing in.

He can hear them coming, their footsteps buried under screams and kicked-up dust, but he can't look back, and he's not even sure if he was ever there at all.  
\---

His eyes flashed open, and he had the sense that he'd just moved, that he'd tripped, but not fallen. He couldn't see the moon, but its light shone dimly around the edge of the curtain, a beam escaping to cut faintly across the floor. The room was still, the city almost silent. He could feel John draped against him, a knee pressed against the back of his thigh, covering his back, even in sleep, but almost stirring now.

 _Don't wake up. Don't see this. Go back to sleep_ , he thought, even as he pressed John's hand gently against his own chest, settling back into the mattress.  
\---

 _The wraith saw the gate address before it shut down, there was no way they weren't already redialing, and he's arrived in some town square. It's full of lanterns and music and cooking food and laughing people, and not everyone's noticed him yet. He's too choked out to yell, to call out. He's trying to fight his way back to the controls, trying to get the gate to open, but it's already opening from the other end, and he has to run, past the gate and away into the night._

He knows, with a screaming finality, that he's probably buying at best a few hours worth of time. He hopes that what he saw wasn't actually a wedding. He doesn't have much humanity left, just enough to hope that the couple with the fasted hands don't outlive each other by more than minutes. Not enough to remember why.  
\---

Ronon woke suddenly, breath freezing in his throat even as his heart pounded under John's palm. John inhaled and sighed, slowly, masking the slightest tightening of his arms in the movement, and closed his eyes again. He pretended to sleep, because some nights, Ronon needed that distance.

  
 **63\. First Contact**

When Ronon stepped out of the silent stuffiness of the gym, he was surprised to find the city already awake, abuzz with chaos and motion.

He walked towards the control room, dodging Marines and scientists. Dr. Shermer, the linguist, was picking up a mess of papers that had, at some recent point, been perfectly organized and filed, muttering angrily about idiots watching where they were going. He stopped, and tried to help, until he was dismissed with a frustrated wave.

He eventually found Sheppard, down near the gateroom, directing traffic.

"Where's your radio?"

"Left it when I went to the gym. What's going on?"

"Dr. Jackson, from the SGC, is coming for a visit. Hang on, back up," and John was turning away, pointing another cartload of supplies down into the main armory, already back on the radio, muttering something about the jumpers. He turned to walk backwards, and called out to Ronon. "Hey, we're going to need you on the Daedalus later this afternoon," and he was off again, talking into his radio as he went. "Yeah, Zelenka's locking down most of the artifacts, and I'm posting an armed guard. Full metal, stunners too."  
\---

McKay was busy as well. "I grabbed breakfast on my way in," he explained, almost apologetically "Have to run a hundred more diagnostics on our scanning system, change the passwords for the ZPM, reset the IDCs, and lock down access to the power grid. Has Sheppard gotten the armory taken care of yet?"

Ronon would have started to answer, but McKay was already yelling about the idiocy of keeping the artifacts from M1F-425 anywhere near the biolabs.

He made his own way to the door, tapping his radio on. "Sheppard, you need me anywhere?"  
\---

After two hours of making the rounds on the south side of the city, double-checking the seals on all the outer doors, he made his way back to the residential area.

He wasn't expecting the glare he received when Teyla answered the chime at her door.

"I am not _hiding_ in here, Ronon." She peered angrily past him down the hallway. "I am merely concerned that Torren may be injured by the debris falling in the wake of an entire city gone _mad_. He is already late for his nap, and Kanaan is with my people for the day, attending to a trade dispute."

"So you don't want to go to lunch?"

"No, thank you."  
\---

He caught Sheppard again, in the hallway, and let himself be shoved into an empty lab.

Sheppard's mouth was a tight line, his shoulders set stiff enough that Ronon instantly decided to keep most of the frustration out of his voice.  "What the _hell's_ going on?"

"Preparing for every disaster we can think of, all at once. The dead albatross of the SGC is coming. Bad times ahead," was all he said, shoving against Ronon's bulk, pinning him against the wall for a bruising fast kiss.

It was over too quickly. "Need to know that you're charged and ready to fight."

"When am I not?"

"Yeah. Just needed to be the one to tell you that," John smirked. "Look. We don't know what form the disaster will take. We only know that it's coming. It always does. Keep your boots on, is all, and don't take off your radio for _anything_. It's almost here.  Gotta go."

Ronon waited a few minutes before leaving the lab, finding the halls more serene than they'd been all day. The city's pulse had slowed, waiting breathlessly for the attack.

He stepped into the control room, nodding to Amelia before taking his place next to Lorne. Watched, out of the corner of his eye, as he touched his forehead, chest, and each shoulder. The ritual was familiar, now, even if the reasoning behind it was still unclear.

He brushed the tips of his fingers over his gun in response, his hand hung loose, but ready at his side.

Chuck tapped his radio, nodding to himself, and called down to Woolsey, Sheppard and McKay, who waited nervously down in the gate room. "He's ready to beam."

A flash of light, and a man was standing in the gateroom, duffel bag over his shoulder, grinning widely.

He looked mad, but somehow, it wasn't the storm that Ronon had been expecting.

Hand still over his holster, fingers twitching now, he leaned over towards Lorne, not letting the madman out of his sight. "He doesn't _look_ so dangerous."

"Don't let him fool you." Lorne muttered back, glancing over his shoulder at the gate techs. "He's died something like eight times now, but he keeps coming back. Ascended for a while. He's a tough bastard."

"If he's such a threat, why are we letting him into the city?"

"If he makes it to number nine, General O'Neill is going to have _all_ our heads."

  
 **64\. The Lost Tribe**

Ronon readjusted his gloves and picked up another piece of what had, at one point, been part of the gate. It was heavier than it looked, but not unmanageable.

He kept his eyes from the hallway, pretended like he wasn't waiting for Woolsey, Sheppard, and Caldwell to return from the closed-door meeting in Sheppard's office. Passing by on his last trip down to the labs, he'd heard the raised voices.

Caldwell had been irate, shouting his name. _The Daedalus. Sabotage. Treason._

That had been seventeen minutes ago, and there were so many hellish scenarios that Ronon couldn't make himself stop listing them as he worked. _Arrest. Exile. Execution_?

Now that he'd filled another cartload, it was ready to be transported down to reclamation and disposal, but he couldn't move.

If he wasn't standing there the minute they came out of the office, if he couldn't look up and meet their eyes the moment they found him, it would look like he was hiding.  
\---

Sheppard was moving slowly, and Ronon found himself watching for signs that he was hurt worse than he'd been letting on. Again. Flanked by Woolsey and McKay, he picked his way through the remains of the gate room. As they approached, Ronon could see the tightness around his mouth, and the shadows under tense exhausted eyes. He looked like he was crawling in his own skin, the same way he always did when Caldwell was in the city.

Two days ago, after the meeting, when they were going over the plans for trying out Keller's treatment. Sheppard, pulling him aside in the hallway outside the conference room.

"He's the one guy who could really fuck things up for me, with or without a reason. Let's not give him one, all right?"

"Ronon, I was just looking for you," Woolsey began crisply. "I wanted to inform you that you, and the rest of Colonel Sheppard's team, among others, are on stand-down for the rest of the day."

"Why?"

"Because we've been up for over thirty hours _straight_ ," Sheppard grumbled, a little angry, rubbing a hand over his face and looked over at where the gate used to be. He wouldn't let himself stretch his back with so many eyes on him, but he looked like he was thinking about it. "We've got the next shift coming in to work on this, and we don't need anyone burning out."

"Okay."

McKay was already talking with Zelenka, apparently giving instructions for the next shift. He kept sneaking glances at Radek's data pad like he thought he was getting away with something. Sheppard, however, made no move to leave the room, and Ronon could tell he was being dismissed.

The impression didn't abate when Sheppard turned to follow Woolsey up into his office, where Woolsey made a show of shutting the door and pointedly ignoring the window that had shattered, leaving the walls wide open.  
\---

"You've got to talk Caldwell down on this," Sheppard insisted. "Ronon did what any one of us would have done. The wraith had control of the ship. Everyone else was locked in the brig, and there was no reason to think that the wraith wouldn't start killing."

"Caldwell is not disagreeing with that, Sheppard. He took issue with the _methods_ that Ronon employed. Though, to be fair, I believe he takes more issue with the fact that he's not going to be able to get Earthside for and extra two weeks, even if they do save the minor repairs for the trip home."

"Fair enough." Sheppard rolled his eyes. "But it doesn't mean he should be going around accusing Ronon of _mutiny_."

"He'll calm down soon enough. In the meantime, tell Ronon to stay out of Caldwell's way."

"You think he's going to go forward with it?"

"Having Ronon brought back to the SGC for a hearing?"

"For _facing charges_ ," Sheppard muttered, quoting Caldwell.

"No. I'll have ample time to remind him of the damage he did with the Goa'uld in his head."

"But Ronon wasn't under some alien mind control," Sheppard explained.  "That might only make things worse."

"True. But Caldwell, for all his rough edges, still feels horribly guilty over that, from what I've heard back home. In addition, I will be pointing out that, probably because of his actions, we lost no one." Woolsey looked up from the pile of papers that had blown across his office. "Can you _believe_ that?"

"No one?"

"A few people will have some Earthside medical leave, but no one died."

"That's…" Sheppard smiled for the first time in a day. "That's unbelievable."

"I know." Woolsey brushed the glass off his seat with a careful hand, and sat down, surveying the debris scattered over his desk. "I've got some time to finesse the situation, but in the meantime, you may want to inform Ronon to tread lightly, if that's humanly possible, and if he were to, say, come across him in a hallway or somewhere, an apology would not be out of order."

"I'll tell him."

"Good. We now move on from Caldwell's complaints, to my own."

"You told me not to blow up the city," Sheppard reasoned, smirking. "I made _no_ promises."

"I do recall," Woolsey raised a dry eyebrow. "And according to the preliminary reports, I am content to assume that you did what you could to prevent the gate from exploding."

"Great." Sheppard straightened slightly, waiting to be dismissed.

"But for future reference, Colonel, it would do much to set my mind at ease if you would go so far as to make that promise. You are, at times, too much a man of your word."

"Duly noted."

"You'll have that report for me late tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you. That will be all, then."  
\---

Even if they were down to serving chicken fajita MRE's in the mess, Sheppard was going to have two of them. Maybe three. He wanted to stop in his office to grab his tablet, but knew that if Rodney saw him working while eating, he would take it as permission to follow suit. He grabbed a pen and the sudoku book instead. There was plenty of room in the margins for noting anything that might happen to spring to mind.

With the personnel from the Daedalus intermingling with Atlantis crew, the mess was crowded, though spirits seemed to be running fairly high. Instead of whining about the damage to ship and city, they were trading tales of their survived crises. It was a lesson he wished Woolsey and Caldwell could learn.

He wanted to find Lorne and brag about being able to withstand a gate explosion from one windowed room away. But then he saw Ronon, sitting alone at the far table with his back to the room, an air of _fuck off_ hovering angrily over his head.

For as oblivious as he could usually be, he could be oblivious when he _needed_ to be.

"Hey Chewie, he said, sitting across the table. "You hear the news? We didn't lose anyone."

"That's good." Ronon was unenthusiastic, but his eyes issued a challenge when they met Sheppard's. He was nervous.

"What's up?"

"Overheard part of  your meeting."

"Which part?" Sheppard ducked Ronon's glare for a moment. "Caldwell's pretty pissed. If you run into him, apologize. Otherwise, steer clear for a while and let Woolsey handle it."

"Woolsey?"

"Yeah." It took a moment for Sheppard to register Ronon's disbelief. "Trust me, the guy is good at apologizing. Might not be good at talking to people, but he's good at talking about them when he needs to."

"Huh." Ronon sounded thoughtful, staring into his stew. "Weird."

"What?"

"It's just. I don't know. Some things are different around here. On Sateda, Caldwell would be allowed to press for execution for what I did, and Woolsey wouldn't have any say, and…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. How people talk to people around here," he shrugged.

"Ronon?"

"I don't know. I, ah, just ran into Keller. Asked her if she wanted to grab some food, and she told me that she was interested in somebody else."

"Rodney, you think?"

"Hope so. It would be worse distracting him from whoever he was supposed to be competing against." Sheppard was pretty sure Ronon should have been smiling as he said this, but he wasn't. He looked dejected. It was irritating.

"So?"

"I don't know. I mean, first I was trying to be friendly because you wanted it, and then because I wanted it. And I told McKay I was interested in her to force his hand." He glanced up at Sheppard, and read the storm brewing there. "Look. It's not like..." he trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "She reminded me of Melena. That's not fair to anyone, and it's not what I want. Besides, she wants someone who _wants_ to be nagged."

"You think that's McKay?"

"Yeah. He needs to know that someone's paying attention."

"Huh." Sheppard considered it. "Think you're right there."

"Yeah. So she tells me this, but she's doing it in the middle of the hallway."

"Were there people around?"

"Don't know what they heard, but they were there."

"Oh. So…"

"On Sateda, there are ways to do things. Marriages are, ah, _were_ arranged, so if you didn't like who your mother chose for you, you had her go talk to their mother. Then, something else was worked out. If you changed your mind once you were promised, you told them only when you were sure no one else was around to hear or see it."

"So everyone can save face?"

"If people knew who decided to break their promise, or why, then they would talk, and then both sides would have a harder time arranging another marriage."

"Huh." Sheppard remembered their talk, on the pier, when they had fallen apart before they'd gotten started, but he didn't want to mention it. "That makes a whole lot of sense."

"So why don't your people do it that way?"

"I don't know," Sheppard shrugged, remembering.

 _An expensive, nearly empty sushi bar, Nancy's shocked shouting, his mortification when their waiter, ignoring the woman he'd seen storming out the door in tears, brought the check back to where John sat, alone at an otherwise empty table. Handing him the credit card and waiting for him to return for a signature, wondering if he would ever stop feeling like this. If it would ever feel like it was worth it. The eyes of the chef, peeking around the door and discussing him in muted tones as he followed his soon-to-be ex-wife out into the snow. Unsure if he wanted to find her waiting for him at their car, or not._

Ronon was still watching him, concerned. He needed to hear more, but Sheppard didn't feel as up to grand assurances as he had when he'd sat down. "We're not good at it? I mean, it kinda depends on the person, though."   _But I'd never do that to you.  Not like that.  Not at all, but not like that_.

Ronon nodded, unconvinced, and Sheppard wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to wipe that look off his face. He scanned the room. No one seemed to be listening, but there were several close enough that he couldn't risk getting personal.

"Well," he let his voice rise just a little bit. Not enough to attract anyone else's attention, but enough for Ronon to know that he recognized that they were in public. "If it makes it any easier, I'm done forcing you into close quarters with her for the time being."

"Thanks. Was starting to feel bad about it all."

"About what?"

"Pretending. Felt like I was using her."

"For?"

Ronon stared at him until he did another sweep of the room. At his nod, Ronon continued. "Because if people think I'm after _her_..?"

"Then they're not…" Sheppard followed Ronon's lead, nodding off the rest with a conspiratorial grin.

"Yeah. So. Anyhow. Sorry I've been all weird," Ronon mumbled. "I was just worried."

"Yeah, well, McKay will hopefully handle Keller, and Woolsey will handle Caldwell."

Ronon was reading the reflections in the window, counting heads, calculating distances, and lowering his tone even more. "And you?" He stared down into his bowl, expecting the worst, apparently, though whether it involved his transgressions on the Daedalus or his transgressions with Keller, Sheppard couldn't be sure.

"I figure, if you're up for it, I'll let you handle me a bit later," he murmured, rolling his head on his neck, speaking more confidently, now that they were venturing onto safer ground. "My back is killing me. Think I might need to work it out."

  
 **65\. Outsiders**

 _Never let anyone take your gun._

The tree trunk he was kneeling behind didn't provide enough cover, and if he sat up to peer around it, he knew he'd be seen.

Ronon was pinned down in a firefight.

 _Just like he was supposed to be._

Only not at all.

He searched through the trees in front of him, trying to catch sight of any Marines, and finding none. He knew they were there, but they'd found better positions than he had.

It had been a stupid mistake. It had taken him longer to realize something was wrong. He was too accustomed to the sounds of wraith stunner blasts to recognize that he wasn't actually supposed to be hearing them this time around.

He checked the P90 again, needing the mindlessness of the habitual activity to give himself room to think. He still had plenty of rounds left, but they would only allow the wraith to get a fix on his position. They were blanks. All their live rounds were cached back by the gate.

 _This was supposed to be a training exercise._  
\---

"Okay. We've got about two dozen men on the ground out there, we've got wraith, dialed in now for about thirty minutes. McKay, how are we on the dial out?"

"Set to redial from seven, cycling the rest every three seconds," McKay replied.

"Good." Sheppard turned his attention to the Marines, who were falling into formation in the gateroom. "Okay, this is a basic extraction. Our guys are presumably armed, but they're packing blanks. We're assuming they've been cut off from their live ammo cache." Lt. Salinas finished opening the crates that he'd just set up in rows. "I want all of you to pack at least six extra clips, hand them out as you can."

He glanced up at the gate as the last chevron failed to get a lock again. "We'll keep the gate open, get the injured through, and get our guys. Keller and Ryerson will be in jumper three for triage, McKay and Teyla in jumper five for tech backup and communications, covering the DHD and the gate. Jumpers four and six are through first for air survey and then backup. All jumpers are to remain cloaked as long as possible. Use channel one for medical, two for anything else. Understood?"

"Yes sir," was the unified response. He turned back up to Rodney in the control room

"How much time do we-" but McKay was already heading for the jumper bay, and Sheppard could feel the gate begin come to life behind him.

The first of the jumpers was already descending into the gateroom, and he didn't wait for their request.

"Jumper four, you have a go."  
\---

Ronon knew he was taking a stupid risk, even as slowly as he was moving, but there was no way he'd be able to make the shot from down here. He checked again. One wraith at twelve, another at two, but closer.

He slid the second knife from his gauntlet. He wouldn't have much time to get both shots out, even if they met their mark perfectly the first time.

One breath, and then the first knife was thrown.  
\---

Sheppard glanced around again, trying in vain to scout out a clearance for jumper three. As it was, they were in the air about three klicks out, nowhere near close enough. Another round of stunner blasts was coming from dead ahead, and then more, further in.

Then, finally, movement in the undergrowth, and he could see two drones, moving slowly. They hadn't seen him.

He opened fire.  
\---

The stunner blasts had come close, but they'd missed him by over two meters, and he hadn't yet broken cover.

Ronon could hear P90 fire, off towards the gate, and hoped they were live rounds. As much as he hated to admit it, he wished he had a minute to scan the ground by the other tree. He was sure he'd find his radio there; it had fallen out in his dive for cover.

There were no answering blasts from the wraith stunners, and for a moment, the entire forest was silent. He could feel the second wraith looking, now, trying to find where the attack had come from. The other one was on the ground, trying to pull the knife out of its chest, equally silent.

His radio chirped, again, and if he was close enough to hear it, then so was the wraith. He crouched low, and waited for the wraith to close in on the noise. Knife in hand, he jumped.  
\---

The drones both fell, but Sheppard had attracted the attention of several more, and they were beginning to close in on his position. He could see six, coming his way, honing in with their usual silent focus.

They didn't see the six other Marines, covering his position. A flick of his hand, and they opened fire.

One got a shot off, but it went wide. Sheppard couldn't help but smile, but he stopped himself before jinxing himself, and scanned the trees again, before signaling the others.

He stood, and began to move forward through the trees.  
\---

Ronon knocked the wraith to the ground and tried to roll away before the wraith managed to grab at him, but he felt a hand wrap around his ankle, and he stumbled back to the ground.

He shifted back and tightened his grip on the knife, and rolled again to break the wraith's hold, before following with a kick that connected to the side of the drone's head. He was finally getting clear.

A third roll got him into a crouch, and he lunched forward, bringing the knife down into the wraith's neck. He pulled at it, felt the blade catching on tendons and bone as the blood began to spray from the jagged wound. The wraith shoved back as he fell, and Ronon felt his hands slipp from the blade.

Stepping back, he bent down to retrieve another knife from his boot, but as he stood, a blast sounded, and he felt the second one hit before he realized the knife was falling from his grasp.  
\---

"That's almost the last of them. If you heard those shots coming from your west or northwest, you're clear to return. We've still got one wraith out there." He was relieved to see all but two in the safe zone start to move, but he could see that they were being helped out to the de-cloaked jumper waiting outside the tree line.

But he still had three people out there, and no idea if they were armed, and the wraith had its target, and was moving in again.  
\---

Ronon fought off the last of the numbing cramps, but he knew he couldn't yet sit up. He couldn't figure out why he wasn't waking up in a hive ship. Why he was waking up at all. It was all hazy, all wrong.

 _Can't hear the drones. They didn't have the time to finish the job._

He tried to scan his surroundings, tried to listen, without moving. No reason to let on that he was awake until he could fight. He forced his breath to silence, trying to will life back into his limbs, and stared at his knife, where it was embedded in the drone's shoulder.

He could hear footsteps in the undergrowth, too far out to be identified, but lighter than a drone, more cautious than a wraith, and after a few moments, he heard a second set, farther out to his left.

 _Sheppard_. He could see him, he could see his face the moment he recognized Ronon was tracking him, the smile that was starting to break out.

Ronon began to stir, and could see the moment it all changed. Sheppard drew his gun up again, and he was taking aim. Ronon froze, and closed his eyes as the shots rang out over him.  
\---

"Clear!" Sheppard called out, before running towards him, crouching in front of him and reaching out. "Ronon, you okay?"

"'m fine." He blinked once and pushed himself up, more gingerly than Sheppard liked seeing. "Got stunned."

"Good. Well. You know." Sheppard glanced again at the wraith, lying about five meters out, unmoving, and reached out a hand. "You okay to walk?"

"Yeah." Ronon turned away to look at the wraith. "What-" he started to ask, but he stood instead.

"I don't know what they were doing here. It wasn't a culling."

"We lose anyone?"

"No, but there are injuries."

"We were lucky," Ronon said, stretching, his hands twitching, as they often did, whenever his blaster was out of reach.

A few moments more, and he nodded, ready to go. He followed Sheppard out of the woods to the jumper, where he sat down, feeling heavy. He wasn't yet able to track the voices that were buzzing around the hold as they took off for the gate.

Someone, one of the Marines, was laughing as he asked Sheppard, with all due respect, if their future trainings could be a little less realistic. Sheppard didn't look quite ready enough to laugh along yet, but he would be, by the time they arrived in the jumper bay.

Ronon let himself close his eyes, but he didn't sleep, and let their voices wash over him.  
\---

John wasn't sure what to expect when he opened the door to see Ronon standing in the hall. He glanced down at the DVD cases he carried. He was holding two fingers up against the cases in his right hand. The coast wasn't entirely clear, but no one had line of sight on them.

"McKay loaned me some movies. You doin' anything right now?"

"Nah. Come on in," John waved him into the room. The door drifted shut behind him. "Whatcha got?"

"Manos, Hands of Fate, High Plains Drifter, and Hostel. McKay says they're all date movies."

John stared at him for a moment before coughing into laughter. "You didn't tell him you're not still chasing after Keller, did you?"

"Not yet… oh." He looked crestfallen, for a moment, until John laughed.

"Seriously, it's a relief. They're not date movies. Unless you're dating..."

"You?" Ronon's eyebrows were raised hopefully. "Which one you want?"

"I haven't seen Hostel," Sheppard shook his head, glancing up at Ronon, "but it's not up your alley."

"Huh?"

"Remember Saw? Yeah. High Plains Drifter it is, then." Ronon seemed content with the selection, so he tossed the other cases down on the table. He felt Ronon coming up behind him as he inserted the disc. When he rose, Ronon's hands fell onto his shoulders, pulling back gently.  
\---

John turned, searching him out in his blind spot, so Ronon wrapped his arms around John's chest, pulling him close. "I'm not leaving my gun next time we're training," he murmured, ready to talk if John wanted to.

"Long as you don't use it in the simulations, might not be a bad idea." John shrugged. "Hell of a day."

"Which part?" Ronon wanted to laugh, but John was already shaking his head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," John nodded, gingerly shifting his shoulders against Ronon's chest.

"You sure? You're all tensed up."

"Lack of sleep and a sore back."

"Sorry," Ronon began to pull away, but John's arm came up to his chest to clasp at them before they were gone.

"Don't apologize. At least not for that. Feel free to grovel for losing your radio today, though. Gave us a scare."

"Okay." Ronon pressed a kiss to the back of John's head. "Got you a present," he pulled away then, smirking, taking the small package from his pocket and placing it in John's hands.

John tore at the paper, uncovering the small metal object and letting the wrapping fall to the floor. Turning it over, it took him a moment to recognize the shape, mistaking it for a stargate, until he saw the spokes.

"A ferris wheel?" John didn't understand. "Where did you get this?"

"Had Amelia pick it up for me when she went on leave. Didn't know what else you liked, so…" Ronon let himself bite his lip, since John couldn't see his face.

"Seriously, I was kidding. You don't have to grovel."

Ronon scowled, confused, and started to wonder if he'd had it wrong. "I'm not. You're forty two years old tomorrow."

John froze in his arms, but only for a moment, and then he sighed. "I totally forgot about that."

"I had to ask Beckett. He also said that you're the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Something like that."

"It's a question-"

"Don't need to know the question when I've already got the answer." Ronon watched the back of John's ear redden. He was blushing, but he'd let him get away with it.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of John's head, and waited a few moments, before taking him by the shoulders again and spinning him around. "Anyway. Happy birthday."

There was a whispered _thanks_ on his lips when they met Ronon's, chapped and dry. His hair was silky and fine, slipping under Ronon's fingers as he stroked back to scratch gently at his nape.

Not quite able to mask the shiver shooting down from his neck, John surged against him, tugging at dreadlocks, suddenly deepening the kiss. Staking some sort of claim, all pent up stress and energy that needed an outlet.

Ronon let himself be wrestled down, let John press him into the mattress with a hand splayed firmly across his chest as his mouth descended again, steady and forceful.

Hips met hips and John was crowded against him now. His hands were tight around Ronon's arms, but they did nothing to stop him from rolling them both over, without even breaking the biting kiss.

 _Maybe I should have._

Ronon pulled back just as John recognized the taste of blood in his mouth, his eyes opening to see the redness slipping across Ronon's lips.

"Shit," John pushed him to sit up. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Come here," and he leaned in again.  
\---

Sheppard let Ronon press him down against the bed again, half listening to the music playing over the DVD menu cycle up again.

This time, their kisses were calm, and grew calmer still as Ronon settled against him, moving down to nuzzle at his throat, down towards his collar, and he wasn't sure what he needed anymore.

He brushed the hair out of Ronon's face, causing him to look up, more sleepily than John had expected.

And then, suddenly, he felt it too. The exhaustion was heavy against his shoulders.

"C'mon," he murmured. "I'm officially too old for this, at least for right now. Let's watch the movie."

Ronon sat up to start the movie, and settled against him. One hand came up to roll the beads of John's dog tag chain, tugging at it slightly when John leaned in to kiss his brow.

They spent the rest of the movie like that, pressing into each other's side, eyes barely tracking the movie. They kissed at increasingly odd intervals as they fought off sleep, for once, letting themselves lose.

  
 **66\. Inquisition**

"I need to know something," Rodney began, nervously twisting open his beer and trying to remember the words he'd strung together in his head before inviting John out to the pier. "I don't know how to go about it, though, so I'm just going to blast right through, and it would help if you let me put my foot in my mouth without freaking out." He fell silent, looking out at the water, trying to remember if the sensors on this side of the city had been correctly recalibrated since they'd arrived.  
 _  
Because now that I've got the time to notice it, it looks like we're a lot closer to the water, sitting here, than we were last time we were out here. But then again, last time we did beer on the pier I was losing my mind, and didn't notice much of anything, and anything I did notice is probably not all that valid in the first place, but then again, if even someone with an IQ of twelve can figure out how high the water is, than I should be able to-_

"Right now?" John drawled, rolling his head on his shoulder to look at him, smirking, as Rodney spun down to a full stop.

"No time like the present." He took a final sip of his beer, and set it down, needing his hands to speak. "I saw you coming out of one of the monitoring rooms out on the northwest edge of the city last night. Five minutes before that, I saw Ronon, and a while before that, I heard…things, that are leading me towards certain assumptions that I probably shouldn't be making in the first place, but it seems like something I should get confirmed, one way or the other, because it's the exact sort of thing that is going to get us all killed. Not, I mean, the assumption that I'm making- whatever it is you two have going on- if there _is_ actually anything going on- isn't a danger to us all- I meant the fact that I'm distracted by the assumption in the _first_ place, and need to be able to keep focused on eight thousand other things to make sure that this entire city doesn't fall apart around our ears, and I don't need to be worrying about you guys on top of everything else. Not that I think you need me to worry about you, but-"

"Rodney, Rodney. Slow down. Just ask me what you're asking." John was frozen, looking out in the general direction of the water, but his eyes were everywhere, like he was assessing threats and calculating their odds.

McKay hesitated. He didn't want to throw out accusations. John had already defended every move they'd made since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy _once_ today, and it was probably too soon to be putting him under the microscope again. Because it would skew the data, and because something about it felt wrong. But there was no clear alternative. "Am I right? Are you and Ronon together?"

John shut his eyes tight when he heard the words, like he was trying to pretend that the question didn't exist. He took a breath, and finally decided, at length, to speak. "Yes."

"Crap." Rodney rolled his head back, blinking up at the sky balefully. "Then this is going to be _so_ much worse than I'd thought."

"What do you mean?" John's eyes were a little too wide, his words a little too fast.

"I mean. Ronon. I really don't want to be the one to tell you, but he... He's into Jennifer. Look, a few weeks ago, I asked him, and he _confirmed_ it. And shit, look. I'm not trying to create problems, but I just thought you should know about it. I know either of you could kick my ass six ways from Sunday, and I don't harbor any will ill towards him- well, not most of the time, because he _can_ be a good guy when he's feeling up to the challenge. But _you_ were my friend first, and I don't want you to get hurt, and all…that." Rodney finally ran out of air and fell silent. He stared at the water, again, hands falling to his lap.

 _Because if you can't see John, then John can't see you, and he won't be able to find you and beat the crap out of you and then tell Ronon to join in on the fun, but he wouldn't, they're your friends, even if this is all weird and out of nowhere, but you probably just went way past the line, there, and you should have tried harder to sound less like a jackass, because he's going to take at least some part of it personally. How can he not, he's a stand-up guy, and a good friend, but you just-_

"You _still_ need to remember to breathe, even if you're not talking," John interrupted, but then his voice grew quieter. More serious. "Listen. Rodney. I already know about Keller. But Ronon and I, we've been together for a while now. Pretty much since you and your sister were kidnapped, when we were Earthside. More or less."

"So wait. My sister and I go missing, we're freakin' _kidnapped_ , and you two braintrusts are on Earth, apparently looking for us, and _that's_ how you decide how to spend your time?"

"It had been…heading that way for a while before then. And hey, we still found you, didn't we? That's the important part." John sounded like he was trying to distract him, and it was almost working.

"Yes, well." Rodney trailed off, sure that he was still supposed to be annoyed about something, but he hadn't yet figured out what. "So this thing. With Ronon liking Keller?"

"I shoved them together to keep the peace, at first. He turned it into a ploy to get you off your ass to do something about her. Mostly."

"Oh." He didn't know what to do with that information. "Hang on. It's been what, a year and some months, and _this_ is the first I'm hearing about it? When were you guys planning on telling me?"

"Oh, probably never," John scratched nervously at his hair, some of the bravado fading. "That's kind of the entire point, I can't really…" he trailed off, shrugging the brunt of his frustration into his beer.

"Right, _that_ charming policy. You're thinking I'd tell someone." John nodded minutely, looking like it hurt to agree. "Does anyone else know?"

"Teyla figured it out a while back, and two others, names withheld for obvious reasons." John bit his lip, moved to defend himself for the hundredth time today. "I'm _sorry_ , I really am, but you don't always have the best filters on once you start talking."

McKay sighed, trying to figure how to claim the high ground, and failing.  "Fair enough. But if it's any consolation, I've kept that information secret for other people, people who I don't even _like_." He turned, trying to get John's attention. "Seriously. If Atlantis lost you, we'd all be _seriously_ fucked. And it would suck for you, too, obviously," he finished, lamely, picking up his beer again.

"Sure. So," John risked a smile, and took a breath, steeling himself. "Look, I'm a little tired. But I need to know. Are you pissed at me?"

"No," Rodney shrugged, sipping his beer as he thought, trying to decide if it was true. "Annoyed that I'm the _last_ to know, maybe. Mostly, I'm just relieved that I didn't come in here and give you a bunch of news you didn't want to hear that would result in getting myself severely maimed or killed when you decided to defend your boyfriend's honor, and _wow_ , that's a really strange mental picture right there."

"Well, ah…" John shook his head to clear the suddenly crystal-clear and somewhat unsettling image of Ronon in a dress, bright pink, with ribbons and bows. "Hey, at least now you don't have to worry about Keller getting snapped up before you get there."

McKay looked like he was about to agree, but then his thoughts veered out in another unhappy trajectory. "That actually doesn't help so much, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if Jennifer went for Ronon, it would make sense. Who wouldn't- well, I guess I'm preaching to the choir here. But now, if she doesn't like me, it's not because there's some ultimate warrior Adonis dragging her back to his cave. It's just going to be because she just doesn't like me."

"Ah, Rodney? I'm pretty sure she's already into you. Adonis told me."

McKay smiled, before his brain, again, decided there was still some sort of bad news to be found. "So, wait. How long have you two been sitting on _that_ bit of information?"

"A few weeks, maybe?

"You couldn't have told- is there anything _else_ I should know?"

"Thought you were a genius, Rodney."

"With vast exception to dealing with _people_." He saluted John with his bottle. "Hi, I'm Rodney McKay, have we met?" Sheppard snorted, toasting him, and they watched the moonlight flashing over the water, neither sure where the conversation was supposed to go from there, drinking their beers. "Huh. Think I just realized something."

"Yeah?"

"You're, like, into _guys_." At John's frustrated look, he continued to explain. "Sorry, I. I'm just trying to figure out if that surprises me or not."

"The hell?"

"Well, in a certain light, you see, it makes absolute sense. In another, it's the most insane thing I've ever heard."

John finally started to relax. "You're going to analyze every interaction I've ever had with every person I've ever met, aren't you? Start looking for signs?"

"Yeah. Not really having any luck whatsoever, though," Rodney explained blithely, as if responding to a query on his research methods, and not the validity of the research itself. "At least not _yet_. But then again, you really are almost as socially inept as I am.  It's one hell of a skewed data set to work from."

"Thanks," John rolled his eyes and opened another beer.

"Don't worry about it, it's the mark of a genius, remember?"

"Could have been Mensa," John agreed. It was a weak joke, but McKay laughed along with it anyway, until it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. "So," John shrugged, holding up another bottle in tired invitation. "Want another?"

"No thanks. I. Um. Should probably get going." McKay stood, began to move away, and spun back. "Wait a minute. This means Ronon's into guys, doesn't it?" John rolled his eyes and set the beer down, bracing himself for another tirade. "Sorry, not that you- I just didn't see that one coming, I mean, he. Strange." Rodney's sight cleared, though, as he began to correlate the data. "You know, though, the entire game with Keller? I should have seen that one. He can be a total jerk. Though, now, I have to admit, I'm feeling a whole lot less ill-disposed towards him."

"Rodney, you're making my head hurt. Go away now."

"Right." He took a step away, and then back again. "Wait, I forgot. Congratulations? I mean, I'm not just glad for you guys because of the Jennifer thing. It's cool. And it's kind of starting to make sense."

"Really?" John squinted up at him, trying to read his expression.

"Not at all, but I'm fairly confident I'll have a working theory figured out by morning."  
\---

Morning didn't bring any new insights into the situation, other than the dim notion that maybe he'd missed the point somewhere when he'd been talking with Sheppard. The suspicion followed him into the mess hall, where he saw Keller, sitting alone at a table. She looked content, reading some novel from the library.  
 _  
She doesn't want to be disturbed, and really, she gets enough of that during the day that she doesn't need me elbowing in on her personal time. I'm sure she'd appreciate the space. Or, hold on. Maybe she's just reading because she's alone, and doesn't want to look lonely. I could go sit with her, she's at least polite enough to chat for a little while, but what the hell am I going to tell her? That this week's power distribution projections look better than they have in weeks, barring another wraith attack or AI invasion? That would only scare her, unless Zelenka's got those primary results for the sensor upgrades and…who am I kidding, she's not going to be interested in that, not this early. That leaves…oh dear god, that leaves conversation._

"Hi Jennifer, just so you know, I think Ronon's ceded the high ground, and it's now left to me to…ah…make a total ass of myself, and ooh, first cup out of the coffee pot. Win. And by the way, Jennifer, if you're curious as to why Ronon might not be pursuing you as avidly as you deserve, well, there's a funny story there-

No. Shut up shut up shut up. It's none of her business. It's none of mine. I'm going to- excuse me, you oaf- I'm walking here. Geez, it's like some high school cafeteria here. Maybe if I sit a few tables over, she'll see me, and if she's bored. Yeah. She's a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.

Wow, Ronon looks bored. And grumpy. And, shit. He's staring right at me. Crap, he's waving me over. Fuck, he knows, and we're going to have to have it out right here, John's probably told him everything, and he's going to-  
  
"Hey Ronon."

"McKay. How're you?"

"Oh, fine, fine." Rodney placed his tray across from Ronon's, which was buried in bacon. _Seriously ought to use you as the Atkins poster boy, bucko. Is it a Satedan thing or a caveman thing?_ "How are you?"

"Me?" Ronon looked puzzled, like he wasn't used to Rodney asking him the question. "I'm good. Heading out with Cadman's team in a bit, picking up Teyla at the settlement."

"Oh. That's good." McKay stirred the syrup into his oatmeal, but it didn't help him figure out what he was going to say.

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"You're staring at me. Got something you want to say?"

Dear god, no. "Oh. Sorry. Nothing, nothing." _I heard you having sex with John the other night, but somehow you don't look any different today. But hey, while we're on it, congratulations for bucking that entire gay-men-are-pretty stereotype.  
_  
"Okay." Ronon grabbed more bacon and shoved it in his mouth, nonplussed as usual.

"It's. Um." _And he's looking at me again like I'm the idiot, but…wait. Now it looks like he's taking aim. Wonder if he could really kill me with a coffee cup..._

"Been meaning to ask you something," Ronon began, drinking his coffee instead of throwing it. His face looked a little more open, friendly again. "That calendar program? On my computer?"

"Yeah?"

"There's this thing that's popping up on the screen talking about daylight savings time. I don't know what that is."

"Oh, it's. Hey, you want me to come over to your room and fix it after we're done? Should only take a minute." _A whole lot less, actually, but then again, if we can't get the gateroom crew to figure out their system preferences, why the hell should I expect it from a guy who probably makes weapons by banging rocks together?_

Ronon grinned around his food. "If it's not any trouble."  
\---

"So what's up?" Ronon spun on him slowly, once they were in his room, but it was casual, not as threatening as Rodney had thought it would be.

"Your computer?"

"I reset it, no problem. You looked like you wanted to talk, though."

"Right. So. Yes." Rodney rubbed a hand over his face. "I was talking with Sheppard last night, mostly about the situation with Jennifer, but some other details came to light, though only, you know, in a _very_ roundabout way."

"Me and Sheppard?"

"Yes." _Wait, does that mean anything, that he calls him that? Does he call him that when they're alone?  Strange._

"Yeah. We're together. Have been for a while. But yeah. Sorry about, ah, jerking you around about Keller."

"It's all right. Sounds like you had your reasons, I mean."

"Yeah." Ronon picked up another knife and slid it up into his hair, fastening it into place with what looked to be a twist-tie. _How the hell doesn't he cut himself on those? Would he slit his own throat if he shook his head too fast?_ "Is it a problem?"

"Not for me," McKay raised his hands. "I just. Guess I wanted to tell you to be careful, but I'm guessing you two have it all under control. You're not exactly the type to be running around yelling it from the balconies."

"Not so much," and Ronon was grinning. _And that is all wrong, because the only time he laughs at my jokes are when I'm in some sort of horrible, embarrassing pain, or we're all about to die. Maybe I should tell Keller that Ronon's looking agreeable, have her put him under a scanner. And I should probably go check the shields right now._

Ronon was watching him, and he realized he'd not replied. "Hmm?"

"Are you cool with this?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be? Just wanted to let you know that I knew, so that the _next_ time you're meeting up in some abandoned lab somewhere _without_ checking the maintenance roster first, you won't accidentally freak out and _kill_ me for being in the same hallway."

"Okay." Ronon nodded, leading McKay towards the door. "But don't worry, I've never accidentally killed anyone."

"Great. Good." McKay nodded, stepping into the hall. "Wait. What?"

  
 **67\. The Prodigal**

"Ronon. Wake up."

"No."

"Sorry buddy. Gotta keep doin' this. Few more times, anyhow."

"Hmm."

"So. What happened?"

"Michael threw me off the balcony?"

"Yeah?"

"…an' then I landed?"

"No kidding. Had us worried, there. Again. I know. You're fine."

"When c'n I go back to sleep?"

"Whenever you want."

"Good. Go 'way now."

"Right. See you in about two hours."  
\---

"Ronon. Wake up."

"John. Shut up."

"Hey, you're not dead. You should cheer up."

"You're not dead. You should appreciate it while it lasts."

"Sure, sure."

"I can still kick your ass."

"But you won't."

"Maybe."  
\---

"Ronon. Wake up."

"How many more times we gotta do this?"

"Last time, I promise. Now. Woolsey said you're going to conveniently forget how the recorder works when it's time to file your reports."

"Right now?"

"Well, since you're not going anywhere…"

"I hate you."

"Right. So, this button here? It's the record button-"  
\---

"Ronon. Wake up."

"Damn it, Sheppard, just how bored are you?"

"Pretty bored."

"Thought we were done with this."

"I lied, before, but this is totally the last time."

"Can I go now?"

"Doubt it. Keller's going to want to keep you here. Get some rest."

"I'm trying, jackass."

"Love you too, jerk."  
\---

John stared up at the ceiling, trying not to look at the clock on his bedside table, knowing, already, that it was well past late, and bordering on early. Again.

The window slid open, and he was out of bed before Ronon made it all the way through.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep," Ronon smirked, and John was pretty sure this was supposed to be some sort of revenge for earlier. He was about to call him on it when he realized that Ronon was weaving, a little, on his feet.

"Jesus, you could have gotten yourself killed."

"You always say that," Ronon sounded unimpressed.

"Yeah, well, you just had a head injury, and you can't even stand up straight." Ronon was about to protest, but he continued, gaining steam. "And look, I already found your body on the floor _once_ today.  I thought you were fucking _dead_ , Ronon. So, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind using the goddamned _door_?"

"Tried, earlier. Was going to come through the hall, but there's a poker game over in Lorne's room, and he's got his door open." Ronon looked annoyingly unrepentant, but he also looked cold. John relented, just like he'd known he would, and nodded back towards the bed.

Before Ronon made it that far, though, John grabbed his arm, grasping it tightly until he had Ronon's attention. "I'm serious." It was an order.  
\---

"Okay," Ronon let himself be pulled close, until he could feel the aggravation thrumming through John's tensed arms. Wondered if this was something they were going to have to fight out.

John tasted worried, but the kiss eased into annoyed frustration after a few moments, and he began to uncoil, a little, into John's arms. They stumbled a little, then, but Ronon was pretty sure it had more to do with the awkward angle and less to do with his dizziness.

John didn't agree with him, of course. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Here?"

"Where else?"

"Right." Ronon crawled under the covers, and felt the mattress dip as John sat down next to him.

"Wait. Did Keller release you?"

"Yeah," Ronon assured him, half a beat too late.

John froze, closing his eyes. "You busted out, didn't you?"

"Your bed is more comfortable than the one in the infirmary, and I figured someone should be sleeping in it, since you were probably lying here staring at the ceiling again. So I came to help out."

John lay down on his back, wriggling over a little and letting Ronon wrap an arm around his chest. "And that's what logic looks like when you've got a head injury. Scaling the walls when you're too dizzy to stand, and-"

"Stop it, I'm fine," Ronon grumbled. "Just figured I'd sleep better here, is all, and that you might, too, once you're done freaking out."

John snorted, but sounded a little less annoyed than he had been. "Stop giving me reasons to, jackass."

"Right. Sorry. Love you. Jerk." He pressed a kiss into the corner of John's mouth and lay his head down, curling again around John's shoulder.

From there, he couldn't see John roll his eyes, but he could hear it in his voice as he sighed. "Love you too, now get some sleep."

  
 **68\. Remnants**

There were some mornings that Sheppard couldn't believe he was waking up in Atlantis, and there were some mornings he was surprised to find that they hadn't destroyed the hell out of it yet. That they weren't nowhere at all.

Sheppard stretched back in his chair and blinked up at the ceiling, letting Edison's intelligence briefing drone on around him. They were ten minutes in, and all he'd learned was that they still didn't know if they'd lost their contact in the Delvenean settlement. If there was another point to Morris's rambling, Sheppard hadn't seen it yet, turned his eyes back to the screen, and cut him off with another question.

Ten minutes later, not nearly soon enough, and he had finally made it down to the mess for more coffee. The light coming through the windows was too bright, and he could only see the silhouettes of people sitting around the tables. He could hear them, though too much easy chattering at too loud and massive a volume blocked him from discerning any isolated thread of conversation. It didn't matter. He didn't have time for this.

 _If we send Lorne's team out before the next market, we should be able to confirm, but that might spook them, unless more of the network was taken out in the last culling than we-_

"What's on for today?"

Scalding coffee splashed over his knuckles and seeped between his fingers. Wiping his hand on his pants, he spun to see Ronon rocking up on the balls of his feet, arms crossed against his chest, all coiled strength and hopeful impatience. Sheppard felt his own energy draining in the face of it.

Reaching into his pocket retrieve the aspirin bottle, he took a deep breath.

"Reading mission reports, compiling a general report on the military capabilities of the various known members of the interplanetary coalition. I have to come up with some recommendations for when and if we get involved and on whose behalf, so Woolsey and the IOA can start writing up the policies that at I can tear my hair out over later. At 1300 I've got a meeting with the security team for the Alpha site, and then a possible disciplinary hearing over some idiocy at the poker game the other night."

"So, we're not getting out today," Ronon summarized, clearly disappointed, watching him shake out two tablets and toss them back.

"No, we're not." Sheppard pressed his eyeball back into its socket with the heel of his hands, trying to stave off the headache that had been brewing ever since he'd woken up, wondering when the aspirin would kick in. _Crap. Also have to finish the assessment for Woolsey's IOA review._ When he opened his eyes again, Ronon was already talking again.

"Does anyone _else_ need an extra body?"

"Look, I can't send you out on every single mission that goes through the gate. You're not the only guy here who's on the rotation. If I don't let everyone have their turn, they'll get rusty, or worse, bored."

" _I'm_ bored."

"I'm _heartbroken_. You're going out with the astrobiologists tomorrow, that's not good enough for you?"

"It's fine," Ronon replied, his impatience evidently settling into all-out irritation, which he carried with him out into the hallway. _Great_ .  
\---

 _Most days, they were just fine._

Some days, they were fine at the same time, and they sat in silence, ate in the mess, sparred in the gym, or lay in the dark, neither interrupting the other's thoughts. Neither had the words to fix it, neither needed it. They didn't need to talk about it.  
\---

There was an explosion, and screaming, and Sheppard's head shot up wondering how the _hell_ he'd thought he'd get any work done in here? _Because you see McKay do it, week after week, no problem._

He watched the car chase a moment or two longer before turning back to his laptop. Deleting the last three lines, he began again, managing three words before he felt the eyes boring into him again.

" _What_?" he whispered sharply, and Teyla glanced over her shoulder for a brief moment, until another shout brought her attention back to the movie. McKay didn't appear to have heard him either. He was still sprawled on his bed, typing and probably watching the screen. He hadn't noticed a thing.

Ronon, though, from over on the sofa, increased the strength of his stare, shifting it to include Sheppard's computer. "Aren't you _done_ yet?"

"No, I finished an hour ago. _This_ paperwork is just for fun."

"Doesn't _look_ fun," Ronon muttered, barely loud enough to hear over the machine guns and helicopter blades.

He tried to focus on the report again, tried to pick up on his broken train of thought, but he could still feel the hole being burned into the side of his head. "Just watch the damned movie," he hissed, deleting the words again.

"What's your deal?"

"I've been running my ass off all day long, and I'm not done yet."

"You've been sitting in your _office_ all day. Should get out more." Ronon's whisper was still loud enough to be heard over the din.

"Well, when I'm not out making sure McKay isn't blowing up solar systems and you're not starting peasant uprisings, as much as I hate it, _this_ is the job." He went into his pocket for more aspirin, shaking two out of the bottle. "Consider yourself lucky. At least you get to hit the mainland in the morning."

"Can't wait," Ronon's sarcasm was palpable. "I'll be sure to pack extra knives. Make sure the botanists don't get attacked by any killer ferns."

McKay typed on, oblivious as ever, and Teyla was resolutely staring at the screen, trying to give them some modicum of privacy. She'd probably already figured that to exit now would only invite a louder disturbance.

It was ridiculous, that they were having this out here. That this was even coming up at all. Sheppard pulled his hands away from the keyboard deliberately folded it shut, before raising his head to frown directly at Ronon.

"Screw it. You're not going."

" _What_?" Ronon stiffened. McKay stirred, for a moment, but his eyes were pulled safely back to his computer screen before they managed to find a target.

"If you're just going to bitch because I'm not sending you into a goddamned _firefight_ , I could really use the day off."

Ronon was slitting his eyes and opening his mouth to respond, but Sheppard barely noticed it through the headache. "Seriously, I don't want to hear it." He stood, began packing up his files, and turned apologetically to Teyla. "I'm gonna take off. Head back, get this finished."

"Come _on_ , I was just trying to distract you." Ronon rose from the couch and followed him to the door. Sheppard could feel him stepping into in his blind spot, and it was all suddenly just too damned close.

"Great, but that's pretty much the _one_ thing I _don't_ need right now." He stood, coiled, hoping Ronon would give him an excuse to attack, wondering how screwed in the head he had to be to want that.

"Know what? Fuck you. I'll see you later." Ronon stalked back towards the couch, and Sheppard slid through the door, already schooling his face back to neutral.  
\---

Ronon was replacing the weights back on the rack when Lorne walked briskly into the gym.

"Hey Ronon, how did you talk him out of it?"

"Out of what?"

"Out of nature walk duty?" Lorne stooped to set his water bottle down next to the door. "Seriously man, thanks. If I had to sit through another exaltation of Pegasus begonias I think I'd just lose it."

"Yeah." Ronon blinked. "No problem." He tossed his towel into the corner hamper, trying to ignore Lorne's questioning glance.

"Hang on," Lorne scratched at his ear. "You wanted to go?"

 _I haven't felt real earth under my feet in two weeks_. "Doesn't matter." The walls are closer than they were yesterday.

"So, you didn't talk him into it?"

"No. Think he wanted to get away for the day."

"The night, too. He's letting them extend the trip until tomorrow."

Ronon snorted at the news, realizing angrily that he shouldn't be surprised to be hearing it. "Really."

Lorne caught the inflection all too quickly. "Yeah. Ah. Sorry, I thought you knew?"

"It's fine."  
\---

Woolsey declined Teyla's invitation to join the three of them for breakfast, citing work that he had to attend to back in his quarters.

 _That excuse suits him better than it does John._

"There you go," McKay stated, his earlier point apparently proven. "He just prefers to be on his own. Speaking of which, where's Sheppard?"

Teyla cast an assessing glance across the table at Ronon. Her eyes were sympathetic, even if her eyebrows weren't. When he remained silent, she explained in his stead. "He flew some astrobiologists to the mainland this morning."

"And volunteered to stay with them overnight," Ronon added, just bitterly enough so that Teyla would understand that her message had gotten through. _Yeah. My fault. I get it._

Rodney, however, was immediately apprehensive. "What, he did?" Yes, McKay. _And you were there, idiot_ . "Why. Why would he do that?" McKay scowled back at Ronon in confusion. _Seriously. If you're not going to catch it, please just drop it._  
\---

"Ronon, it is good to see you, are you well?" Teyla fell into step with him in the hallway, trying to make eye contact.

He didn't feel like maintaining it for more than a moment. "I'm fine."

"Of course," she nodded, and on anyone else, it would have looked like backpedaling. Once her head swung up towards him again, she'd already chosen her new track. "I don't mean to intrude, but-"

"Then don't." His words were gruff enough to stop her where she stood, but he could feel her watching him until the transporter door closed behind him.

Ronon slid through the outer door and willed himself into believing he'd escaped, but between the grinding screech of power tools drifting over from across the bay, the sparks of the welding units, and the cold metal flatness beneath his feet, the illusion was spoiled.

He lay back and closed his eyes against the last vestiges of sunlight, trying not to think about fights he didn't expect to win, and the stupid ones that he'd started. Trying to convince himself he hadn't already retreated.

After a time, the noise of power tools drifting over from the other pier- repairs on the drainage system, he thought- began to come in fits and stops, the engineers starting to pack it in for the evening.

It took some time before Ronon was willing to believe that they had really gone, that silence was really falling. He began to let himself pretend that he could feel the ground beneath him.

He was finally alone, and the early stars were just starting to come out. Just as they'd always done. Just like they'd do tomorrow.  
\---

His thoughts had spun down, leaving a vague humiliation in their wake.

 _You're acting like you can't tell friends from enemies. War from peace. Life from not dying._

If you survive, you're going to have to stop fighting someday. That used to be the point, once. John's probably back by now.

Ronon stretched, and considered the chances that he'd be able to make it to the mess without running into Teyla's concern in the hallway. He'd already calculated the odds- low at best- that John would be seeking him out tonight.

He pushed himself up, and was about to stand, when a sound make him freeze. Footsteps, familiar but slow, stalking towards him, wary of some violence that had already washed out of him.

"Hey." John shoved the life signs detector into his pocket, fidgeting a moment before sitting down and carefully looking up at the sky.

 _He's trying to guess how close he's allowed to be.  Something's up._

"How'd it go?" _I know it couldn't have gone badly enough that we raised the shields, but it went badly enough, I know._

John let off a sharp laugh. "Great. It went great. You seen Woolsey?"

"No."

"Then you missed it. This artificial intelligence thing appeared to Woolsey, and to me, over on the mainland. Read our minds, made us see things."

"Like what?"  
\---

John finished his narration and wished shutting his mouth and shaking it off were the same things.

Ronon rolled his head towards him, staring pointedly at his hands. "You still have both of them." John flexed his fingers again in response. "Do you want to talk about it?"  His voice was lower, familiar, and more patient than he'd been expecting.

"Not really. Still got some pretty ugly thoughts running right now."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty used to those." Ronon offered the invitation amicably enough, but the words hit hard.

 _The world failed you, Ronon. And that sucks. And sometimes, I fail the world, and I don't know if that sucks any more, or any less, but there it is. I just don't need to have it dragged out, over and over again, like I don't already fucking know that it's there._

John made a choice, and shifted a little, closer to Ronon. "You still pissed at me?" _Because I don't know if I'm allowed to lean against you like I want to._

"No." Ronon shook his dreadlocks back. "Um. Sorry about that." Their shoulders met, bumping briefly in apology. "Getting cold out here. You want to head in?"

"I'm tired." Sheppard found himself staring at the sky again, trying to remember what Orion's belt looked like. "Hungry too."

Ronon glanced back towards the center of the city- i _t's still there_ \- and wrapped an arm over John's shoulders. "We'll go in soon. Whenever you want."

  
 **69\. Brain Storm**

John checked the heads up display again, even though he knew they were on the right heading. "You know, for all your complaints about how you don't get offworld enough, I thought you'd be more into this."

"There's not going to be anything to do."

"Well, I'm going to show you how to surf. We're stocked with food and a decent amount of beer, and the worst trouble we'll find is sunburn."

"That's cool." Ronon shrugged, stretching back over his seat, apparently reconsidering. "Guess I don't really see the appeal of just hanging out."

"Do you see the appeal of just hanging out without having to make sure no one's in the hallway?"

"When you say it like _that_ ," Ronon grinned, widely, for the rest of the flight.

John followed the shore around until the crags turned into forest, and then until a sliver of white appeared, breaking the water from the land.  
\---

The first afternoon was spent on the beach, where John put Ronon through an hour or two of the most stupid amount of posturing he'd ever endured.

Eventually, though, John told him to check his leash, and they were finally wading out into the water, Ronon pushing his board out in front of himself.

"Hop on!" John called, watching carefully. He was standing guard, in case something went wrong, Ronon figured, once it inevitably did.

He breached the surface again, cursing and sputtering, flipping the board back over, barely aware that he was still gripping John's steadying arm.

He finally stopped coughing enough to say, "This is a lot easier on the sand," before he felt like he was choking again. _And it's stupidly dangerous, and foolish._

"Yeah, but it's a lot more boring. You okay?"

He wanted to go back to land, wanted to cough up all the salt water he'd swallowed, but John was looking concerned, maybe a little nervous, and he hated _that_ more than he hated the water. "Nothing wounded but my pride."  
\---

John listened to Ronon sitting up, sliding out of the sleeping bag, pulling his clothes back on quietly, clearly trying not to wake him. It was a little late for that, but John was willing to let the illusion ride.

He didn't need to ask if it was the dreams again, the ones that crept out of the ground whenever Ronon slept on it. That found him when no walls were there to block him from the sky.

 _Tomorrow night, we'll sleep in the jumper_ , he decided, slitting his eyes open to find Ronon stirring at the dying fire with a stick, tossing it on to burn once it got going again.

The increased brightness was enough of a pretense for John to awaken, and so he did, beginning with a noisy, shuffling stretch and a yawn that wasn't entirely an act. He ran his hands over his face and blinked up towards Ronon, catching him in the middle of looking away.

 _Don't ask. Let me be._

John stood up and pulled his jeans. "What's up?"

"Guess I'm too used to guard duty," Ronon's grin was convincing enough, but he wouldn't look up from the fire. "Habit, you know?" He turned, though, checking his blind spot when John moved to stand behind him.

"Yeah, me too," he answered, bringing a hand up under Ronon's chin, tilting his head back so he could press a firm kiss between his eyebrows.  
\---

After another day or so, Ronon began to get the hang of lying on the board, keeping his head and chest up, and letting the waves push him towards the shore without swallowing half the ocean. When he returned out to the water, he would find John waiting for him, right where he'd started.

This time, though, John came back with him, ran up on the beach, and grabbed his own board. They jumped over the low waves, pushing the boards ahead of themselves awkwardly as they waded out.

John went a few meters away, before nodding at Ronon and jumping onto his own board, leaving him standing alone in his own part of the ocean. Ronon began another run, and he made it to shore before realizing that John wasn't already there.

He spied him, still out on the water, standing on his board riding alongside a wave, approaching the beach in a gentle trajectory.

Ronon hadn't expected him to look so graceful, so capable.

John finally arrived forty-odd meters away before picking the board up under his arm and running back down the beach. Even splashing through ankle high water, John moved with more ease than he did when they ran on the solid floors of the city.

Ronon watched his wide smile as he drew close, content and unworried, and he started understanding something about John that he hadn't known he'd missed.  
\---

Crawling onto the board had been awkward enough, but not nearly as disastrous as trying to _stand_ on it once it was on the water. John stayed near, again, for most of the morning, reminding him to get his arms up over his head when he fell.

Ronon was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to need the reminder. Some things were just instinctual, he figured, right up until the rail caught him on the side of the jaw the third time he went down.

By the time he resurfaced, John had apparently decided that he was tired, that it was getting a bit late, that they should head in. Ronon was a little too dazed to disagree or call him on the worry that still clouded his face. He let John dive under the surface to unclip the leash connecting him to his board, and let him push it back towards the beach.

The sunlight reflecting off the sand was almost too bright to look at, and the contrasting shadows cast by the trees beyond it made it even harder to focus. Everything was too sharp and clear to look at, and Ronon squinted against the sight, letting his feet carry him forward.

His eyes were barely open when he felt John's hand on his arm, guiding him back to the fallen trunk, easing him down. The trunk was rough and gritty under his palms, and he welcomed the sensation. _Solid. Grounding_. He hung his head back and felt the water evaporating from his skin, half-listening to John busying himself in the jumper.

"Ouch," John, suddenly sitting next to him, handed over a beer that he didn't feel like drinking, instead holding it up against his jaw, over the bruise that probably hadn't appeared yet. "Your ankle."

Ronon looked down, and it wasn't as bad as he'd momentarily feared it would be, but the inside of his right ankle was red and scratched from sliding over the deck whenever he'd tried to stand up. "Board rash?"

"Yeah." John tilted his head back to drink. "Well, we've finally got blood in the water. Just be glad there aren't any sharks."

"Like in Jaws?" Ronon began to scan the surface of the water, finally settled enough to open his beer.

"Yeah. They're attracted to blood, and think surfers look like prey."

"And your people still go out there?"

"We came all the way out _here_ , didn't we?"

Ronon watched John lean back to look up at the sky, and started understanding something about John that he hadn't known he'd known.  
\---

 _They've never waited this long before. It's been weeks, maybe a month, since he's heard the sound of a gate engaging, of darts cruising overhead, of solid footsteps that weren't his own._

The wraith have been hunting him as long as he's been running, and they know how best to hurt him, now. He can run, or he can fight, and he's good at both. Deciding between the two, however, is his weakness, and he knows it as much as they do.

But it doesn't mean…

He knows that they haven't given up. If he could be safe- somehow- for three years or ten- they would come again. They always will. Relentless. Their sights are longer. The wait would be nothing to them.

Someone should already be here, but he's seen no one since arriving. There were people here, once, five years ago or a hundred. If their buildings fell to age or the wraith, he doesn't know. It all looks the same, the life sucked from them either way.

But this is a good place. The food is plentiful, the water is clean, and the wraith have yet to appear. He's warm and rested, even clean, for the first time in weeks, maybe months, but he's not at ease.

Indecision is what kills, he'd been taught. To fight is to decide.

He doesn't know how hard to run, or how far. How many traps he can lay, how much food he can afford to cache. If he dares to risk diving back into the water lapping at the beach. If he has enough time to find a safer place to sleep, or if he should dial through now, leave this place.

This inaction is worse than the chase. He has no idea how much of a lead he has, if he has another week in this sunlight, or only an hour.

He has to make a choice.

He doesn't know what to do.

He paces, half-hoping that the gate would come to life and force his hand, but it hadn't yesterday, and it might not come today.

He chides himself. Staying in paradise is less useful than gaining ground, and he forces himself to activate the gate, not knowing if it's retreat, or if he's moving forward.

The gate connects, and it's open, and he's about to step through, but he stops, even before he knows why, and then it hits him.

He's opened the gate already. No one can come through. He's locked them out.

He knows, he is certain, that he has a span's time before he has to run again. It's the only certainty he's felt in an age. He's absolutely alone, and it's the safest he's been in almost three years. Safe.

He sits, putting his back to the gate for the first time since he was a child, and gazes out over the land. Takes in the ruined city, the trees, the wide, soft shoreline and the water beyond it. The alcove in the ruin where he'd slept. The fire that he'd let himself build there. He tries to memorize all of it.

He wants to remember this place, to remember that he'd been here.   
\--

The fourth morning, John woke to rain pelting the roof and side of the jumper, looked blearily at the beach outside the open rear hatch. He blinked once, and let himself do something that he hadn't done in a lifetime.

He stole some more of the blanket back from Ronon, and went back to sleep.  
\---

The weather hadn't cleared any by the time he awoke again. He found Ronon watching the rain on the water from underneath the rear overhang. The scene would have been peaceful, had John not learned, long ago, how to read the tension in Ronon's shoulders.

But, somewhere along the line, he'd also learned how to ease it.

"Sucks outside, huh?" he said, kneeling behind Ronon and leaning over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Bored."

"Been up long?"

"Nah. Hour or so." Ronon let him kiss the bruise on the side of his face and turned to nip at John's lips. "Mm. Warm."

"Not for long, and you're cold," John blinked, thinking about coffee, not wanting to deal with the fire, and not caring enough yet to set up the small stove stowed underneath the bench. "Come back inside, huh? We'll shut the door for a while."

"What do you want to do?"

"I've got some ideas, but I'm too lazy for most of them right now." He crawled back towards the bedroll, Ronon closed the door and followed. His skin was freezing against John's back as he settled back underneath the blankets.

"Not really tired," Ronon murmured, sliding a palm over John's ribcage and resting it over chest.

John handed back one of his earphones, putting the other in his own ear. Tilting the music player up, he clicked the wheel a few times, and then a man's voice began to speak.

 _"No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own. That as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were being scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water…"_  
\---

Ronon eventually did get the hang of it, of course he did, but every small failure and second attempt was beautiful to watch.

Likewise his face, when John could see that Ronon was beginning to realize that he was learning it, that it was doable. Wariness and uncertainty turned to confidence. Annoyance and irritation grew into pride and excitement. Monosyllabic grumbling became trash talking, shouted out over the waves as they narrowly missed colliding for the third time in an hour.

Eyes intent and curious, happy and laughing, looking back at him for guidance, and not threat assessment. It was a combination Ronon had never shown him, might never need to show him again.  
\---

On the eighth day, which started with stretches and yearnings for real beds, the radio began to follow them down to the beach, and then inland.  
\---

They had followed the stream back towards its source, and were lazing on an outcropping, watching the waterfall and carving off strips of fruit with their knives.

John broke off his narration to take another bite of the pear type thing, and again found himself reaching for his pocket, patting it down to ensure that the radio was still there.

If Ronon noticed, he didn't comment. He was still staring into the water, trying to catch glimpses of the fish he'd seen downstream. He was paying attention, though, and after a few moments, prompted John to continue. "So, wait. Weren't the Gypsy people wearing speckled scarves or something?"

"Well, yeah." John's head snapped up, blinking back into his story, trying to figure out where he'd lost the plot. "Here's the thing, though…"  
\---

As they made their way back from the waterfall, Ronon's stories about Jarvag Tenear, the Satedan Sherlock Holmes, began to come in increasing fits and starts.

Pausing at another rise in the land, looking out over the rocks breaking the rushing water, Ronon turned back to John and asked, "So when we get back, what's the worst case scenario?"

"Atlantis is gone."

Ronon nodded once, needing no more information at the moment, and followed John down the slope. "Anyway, Councilwoman Tenear, while she was down in the gardens, looked up and saw that one of the bells in the tower had been cracked…"

It was late in the day when they caught sight of the white sand through the trees. They would be back at the jumper in another ten minutes or so. John was picking his way over a jagged, moss covered outcropping, and was almost too distracted to hear Ronon.

"So what's the second worst?"

John hopped back down onto the ground. "Some new Genii faction, the wraith, or those Asgard assholes have the run of the city, and control didn't get a chance to send us a message first."

"Think that could happen?" Ronon was assessing the odds, but didn't seem to have an opinion either way.

"Think about it often enough" John reasoned.

"All right. What should we do?"

"The usual. Split up and ambush."

"Sounds like enough of a plan."

"No it doesn't." John shook his head apologetically. "But it might have to do."

"Ah, it's fine." Ronon stepped around him, slapping his shoulder as he passed. "You just aim where you need me to shoot."  
\---

Though they didn't discuss it, nightfall came, bringing with it several concerns, foreboding and unvoiced.

 _We could be the last people left._

This could be the last time we get to have each other so completely.

After a few last morning waves, they would be back in Atlantis by lunchtime, and once the unspoken decision was made, the beach, their time there, began to feel severely impermanent.  
\---

When Ronon returned from burying the remains of dinner- the fish John had caught earlier in the day- he found John down at the edge of the ocean, standing just far back enough that the water only washed over his feet only when the slow waves crept up onto the shore.

His bare feet were the only thing that made the scene any different from any given night out on the pier. Ronon couldn't tell if he was looking out, or looking in, and wondered if John was thinking, too, that they'd been away from the fight for too long, because there, in the moonlight, he looked almost shapeless without it.

He toed his boots off before coming close enough to slide his hands underneath John's arms, settling against his chest and tethering him to the spot. The sand was warm beneath his feet, even now, an hour after sunset.

"Hey."

"Hey. You alright?"

"I'm good," John's drawl was content, a little teasing. " _You_ sound like you're brooding again, though."

Ronon didn't get a chance to respond, before John was turning in his arms, pressing against him, sliding his hands underneath his waistband, playing at the skin over his hips.

"Not brooding," Ronon grinned, curling into the contact.

"Good," John mumbled against Ronon's lips before connecting fully.

He pulled John back, away from the water, before yanking at John's shirt, tangled with John's hands as they fumbled with the buttons on his vest. He tossed their clothes in the general direction of the jumper before allowing John to pull him back towards the water.

It was still giddy and strange, standing naked with John out in the open like this, even if there was no one else to see them.

He let John pull him down to the damp sand, chest to chest, tight hands finding wrists and shoulders, mouths finding wet lips and throats.

John's hands were slick against his skin, skidding up from his waist to grasp at his shoulders, massaging lightly, but letting the water do most of the work as their hips found each other.

He felt water rushing up over their thighs, and John surging along with it like he was some part of the sea, washing over him. Lips skipped across throats and down to lap at wet shoulders.

Ronon opened his eyes to find the stars looking back at him, and he felt the ground, real beneath his back, and the only difference between this and a thousand other nights was John.

Suddenly wild, he tugged at John's hair to kiss frenetically at his face, to let John answer him, reckless and rough.  
\---

There was something awesome, something completely overwhelming, in the tangle of limbs, of the twist of Ronon's body as they rolled over, legs splashing in the water, of the rough beard scratching low against taut muscles.

Ronon's hands were wrapped around his wrists, pinning him, grinding his fists back into the wet sand, as harsh as his mouth wasn't as it followed over the ridge of his hips, biting and sucking and drinking the skin there, so fucking close, John could feel his breath, hot, and wanted it more than anything. He was almost too gone to notice that the waves were coming up higher, they had already reached his thigh, and they were starting to splash against his hip, and-

 _This is about to become a very, very bad idea._

He dragged his hands up again, pulling at Ronon's until he was forced to look up with the most scathing annoyance he had seen in weeks. John barked out a laugh anyway.

"What?" Ronon growled, not yet having noticed his soaked dreadlocks.

"We should head back to the jumper. It's our last night, and I don't want to have to worry about giving you mouth-to-mouth."

Ronon rose over him and scowled down in mock puzzlement as he moved to the side. "Isn't that what we were doing?" He followed John back into the water, rinsing the sand from their legs.

"Plus, sand chafes, so unless you want to tell the doctors how you managed to get board rash on-" he was cut off as Ronon knocked him into the water. By the time Ronon had finished rinsing himself off, John was scowling again at him from the sand.

"What? I'm a lot nicer than you, have no problem giving you mouth-to-mouth."

"Jackass," John rolled his eyes, laughing and holding out his hand, yanking Ronon out of the water. "Come on."  
\---

"It's still there," Ronon laughed at his own relief as they drew closer to the clearly unharmed city. He sat back in his chair, swiveling a little to look away, out the windshield, even as his arm swung up towards John.

"Yeah." John replied through an easy grin, initiated contact with the control room, and caught Ronon's hand in his, squeezing back.

  
 **70\. Infection**

Sheppard tightened the laces on his boots and glanced around the locker room, gauging the readiness of his men. Across the bench, he watched Ronon's knife flash smoothly as it spun in his hand, easy and calm. Not agitated, not nervous, not angry, and most importantly, not so cocky or proud that he'd be likely to buck orders up on the hive.

It wasn't an omen, or anything like that. Hanging expectations on the spin of a knife was ridiculous. But Lorne's eyes followed Sheppard's to the knife. "Looks like we're good," he agreed, before stepping away to zip up his vest.

Sheppard clapped his hands once to get their attention, which he already had, and gave the order. They were ready to go.  
\---

 _I don't have time for this shit._

"Colonel Sheppard, all due respect, we have some very valid concerns about your head injury." Ryerson waved his arms in a vain attempt to get Sheppard back into his bed. "You blacked out."

"And I'm back now, aren't I? I'm _fine_. Give me my damned radio. I need to check on my people."

"Your team is fine. They're almost ready to be released."

"Good." Sheppard finished buttoning his shirt. "But they're not the only people I have to worry about, okay? We lost Williams and Linden. I need to talk to Lorne and Ramirez. There's work to do. _Now_."

"Lorne and Ramirez didn't hit their heads. They can handle it. It's important that-"

Sheppard managed to stop his eyes from rolling, and made sure to keep his voice down. "It's _important_ that I see to my men. If you're this worried about a bump on the head, what are you going to do about my second in command? Until I know where Lorne's head is at, I'm not sitting around waiting for you to decide that I'm ready to _stand_."

"While that's great, but I have to take responsibility for the lives of everyone in this city."

" _Don't_ give me that. You're right, I don't disagree, but that's the _worst_ argument you can give me right now." He ran a hand over his head, fingering the lump under his hair gingerly. "Because right _now_? Either myself of Lorne has to take responsibility for the losses of _two_ _Marines_. Williams was on Lorne's team for three _years_ , Doc, and I might have hit my head, but it's the only one in the game right now, and we've still got a wraith in the city. Understand?"

"Yes, Colonel." Ryerson's terse agreement wasn't exactly heartfelt, but it was enough for now.

"Okay then. Tell you what. I'll be back in two hours, and you can, I don't know, shine _lights_ in my eyes again or something. That's always fun."  
\---

Ronon was still thinking about the hunting trip when he noticed the movement in the mess hall doorway. Parrish and Banks, heading towards the counter, nothing more. Not some wraith drone soldier, and not Sheppard. He wasn't sure who he'd been expecting. When he turned back to his work, Kanaan was trying not to laugh at him.

"You look an awful lot like McKay when you do that," Kanaan observed, examining the ragged edge of the fishing net Ronon was helping him repair. "Watching the door as if expecting your next meal or disaster to step through at any moment."

"Shouldn't I be flailing around a lot more?"

"I suppose. Try it."

"Shut up." Ronon smirked, bringing the needle around to finish another knot. "You're the one hiding out from Teyla."

"She was unimpressed with my concern. I thought it best to let her spend some time with Torren in peace and quiet," he admitted, "and wait for her sense of humor to return."

"Is she doing all right?"

"Apart from falling out of the sky and coming home to a crying child who missed his nap, she is doing quite well. Have you seen the other members of your team?"

"Last I saw, McKay was still in the infirmary, hovering over Keller's twisted ankle."

"I am sure the doctors on duty are relieved someone is there to make sure they do not accidentally amputate." Kanaan finsihed braiding the fibers back together and set about reinforcing the knot.

"Well, you never know."

"And Colonel Sheppard?"

"Probably in his office, taking out his aggression on the paperwork." When he looked up again, Kanaan was nodding at him slightly, before shaking his head and changing gears.

"So how are _you_ doing?"

"Apparently, I'm turning into McKay. How would _you_ feel?"

" _Quite_ unsettled, and also like I was avoiding the question."

Ronon sighed, dropping the netting to his lap. Though he was more laid back, Kanaan could sometimes be more tenacious than Teyla. "Just thinking that today didn't end up the way I thought it would."

"You did _not_ expect to find yourself on a hive ship, fighting the wraith, and facing certain death?"

"Actually, that didn't surprise me." He scowled, trying to think. "But losing two guys did."

"I would imagine so."

"Yeah, but," Ronon shook his head, picking up the needle again. "It didn't use to."  
\---

Lorne seemed tense, and a little nervous when Sheppard stopped by his quarters for the second time, but looked relieved when John didn't force him to talk, and accepted the bottle of whiskey with a quiet "Thanks."

It wouldn't help, not much, but there wasn't much else John could do right then, besides not noticing Doctor Kusanagi stopping in front of Lorne's quarters as the transporter door closed.  
\---

When he stepped through the door Ronon was on his bed, arms draped over flannel-clad knees, the knife twirling over his fingers lethargically.

John didn't bother asking if he'd been waiting for him. "Been sitting there long?"

He looked around, trying to get some sense of what Ronon had been up to for the past few hours, but found nothing, and wound up staring at the painting of the Satedan soldiers. It was the brightest thing in the room, and caught his attention as it often did when he was too tired to look elsewhere.

"Not really." Ronon slid his feet over, making room on the bed, and put the knife on the nightstand. "You actually get cleared to leave the infirmary this time?"

"You heard about that, huh?" John wished he didn't feel the eyes in the painting following him as he sat down to take his boots off.

"Overheard Keller talking with him about it when I went to see if she and McKay wanted to grab dinner."

"It was stupid. Went back after I sent Todd through the gate. Got checked out. I'm fine." John shook his head to clear the ghost soldiers out. "Anyhow, how're you doing?"

"Fine. Going out hunting tomorrow with Kanaan and some of the other Athosians. Want to come?"

"Can't. Tomorrow's going to be busy. But, if you're looking for more people, try Ramirez, Lorne, and their guys. They might want some distraction right now."

"Okay." Ronon leaned shifted his knee so it was pressing against John's back. "How about you?"

"I need sleep," he said, but made no move to remove his clothes. The soldiers in the painting were beginning to look blurry; he couldn't see their faces anymore.

"Okay," Ronon repeated, this time to himself, moving around on the bed and bringing his hands up around John to start working on the buttons of his shirt.

John let himself lean back against Ronon's chest, making it easier, making contact that wasn't broken until he stood to remove his BDU's.

"Almost forgot," he crawled back onto the bed, steadying himself with a hand on the side of Ronon's neck, and managed to kiss him once before his balance began to slip.

Ronon eased them both back down against the pillows, and was probably still kissing him when he fell asleep. He reached over to turn the lamp off, and curled back around John, and lay awake until their breaths began to match.

  
 **71\. Identity**

 _"If we don't handle it now, the situation could deteriorate before we have another chance."_

"I hadn't realized things were that bad."

"They're not. Not yet, but you know that a week or a month from now, they might not be so amenable."

"We'd have another month's worth of intel."

"We know they can be trusted?"

"That's the question, isn't it?"  
\---

"Hang on a second," John called out, irritably, straightening his shirt out and hurrying to open the door in unlaced boots.

"Woolsey, what's going on?"

Woolsey stepped inside, letting the door close behind him before speaking. Sheppard forced himself not to look towards the bathroom, where Ronon, _if he'd just left when he should have, damn it_ ,  was hiding. 

"Zelenka's been stabbed. He's alive, heading into surgery now. I want this kept off the citywide as long as possible. East pier, level four. I need you to look into it. "

John finished tying his laces, and was ushering Woolsey out the door. "I'm on it."  
\---

 _"If they're all together when it goes down, they could end up splintering, or go unified in one direction. Depending on which direction, it could ruin everything. If we take them on individually, it might be easier."_

"So you want us to open ourselves up for attack twice?"

"Don't think so. It'll probably just give them enough time to regroup."

"Good. How much time do you think we're going to need?"  
\---

After the better part of an hour scouring the lab, Sheppard was coming up empty.

The scientists couldn't offer him any more information than what they'd already told him- _didn't see anything, don't know, have no idea, found him like this_. Within the next hour, everyone in the city would know about what had happened, would be asking questions, and he didn't have any answers.

He was done here, and it was time he reported in.

On his way towards Woolsey's office, he fell into step with McKay.

"What's going on?"

"Zelenka was _stabbed_ ," McKay whispered in disbelief.

"I know."

"They've got Ryerson and one of the others working on him. He's in a light coma, and he's lost a lot of blood, but they're saying he's probably going to recover. This is insane."

"No kidding."

"Someone here had to have done it, John."

"I know. I've been talking with security for the last half hour, the city's as secure as it's ever been." They turned into the gateroom and turned up the stairs. "Let's put this on hold for a minute, okay?"

McKay assented with a puzzled nod, passing gate techs and marines silently. Some of them had probably heard, and were getting around to telling the others, and someone, possibly someone in the room, was a fucking traitor.

 _One of my people is capable of this, and I wasn't capable of stopping it. Didn't have a clue. Two hours ago, I could trust everyone here._

The knowledge of it, that he couldn't warn anyone- turned Sheppard's stomach, but he kept his face neutral as they entered Woolsey's office.  
\---

 _"It should only take a few minutes."_

"It could escalate. Five minutes might not be enough."

"Well, then, I guess we need a better plan, don't we?"

"Don't look at me. This was your idea."

"You see any other options, let me know. We're doing this."  
\---

Ronon followed Keller up the hallway and into the jumper bay. Keeping to the shadows, hunting her, he wanted nothing more to confront her. To find out she didn't attack Zelenka, wasn't an enemy, and that he wouldn't have to shoot her.

Keller was rummaging around, up ahead, inside the jumper, apparently not knowing what she was looking for. The jumper, as with everything else in the city, was apparently unfamiliar to her. He caught her face in profile. She looked confused, nervous, but not dangerous.

There was still a little room for hope, then. Sheppard was probably right; it was just a strange and distracting coincidence. She needed to get back to the med bay. He began to move in, carefully, not wanting to startle her.

The footsteps coming down the steps from the upper tier sent him back around the side of the jumper. As feet hit the floor, Ronon froze. He knew that tread anywhere.

McKay.

He might have had a reason to be there. He worked late when he could, saying that it was the only time he could do so without interruption.

But right now, he was heading straight for the jumper in a darkened room, and it was all starting to make a sick sort of sense.

 _They could be working together. He was nervous, earlier, in Keller's quarters. She might know she's being followed._

Ronon pulled his gun, glancing down to make sure it was set to stun, and listened as McKay drew near. He willed him to turn and walk away, tapping intently at his tablet as he went. He dreaded what it would mean if he didn't.

 _If there's anyone here who could have a problem with Zelenka, it's him._

He swallowed the knowledge down and closed his eyes, trying to listen.

 _He had time. Opportunity. He would have had the knowledge._

"What are you doing?" McKay's voice echoed out into the jumper bay, and Ronon was sure he'd been caught, but McKay hadn't come far enough around the jumper to see him. He was talking to Keller.

 _If they're in it together, he wouldn't sound surprised._

The relief washed over him, and he willed his heart to slow down.

From where he stood in the shadow of the jumper, he heard McKay growing more concerned, and Keller more agitated. He checked his gun again and used the habit to get his bearings.

He still didn't have evidence to prove anything, be he had enough to shoot with.  
\---

 _"You don't know what their reaction will be."_

"I know enough that they probably won't open fire."

"That would be easier."

"Maybe. How many are we looking at, here?"

"Just the two, for now."  
\---

It wasn't actually a gate mania, or a disease or parasite, but another case of people touching things they shouldn't.

Keller was in the infirmary, Zelenka was awake, and it seemed strange that after the worry and the body switching and the bullets, there were no traitors on Atlantis. They were the same people they'd been yesterday, and if their eyes shifted a bit more hesitantly, it was only a natural reaction.

It was a little early for dinner, but Ronon joined McKay anyway, needing something to do to fill the time.

"So, you going to go visit her tonight?"

McKay grimaced, answering, "I know I should."

"She _isn't_ the one who stabbed Zelenka, pulled the gun on you."

"I know. It's just. I never know what to do in situations like this. How I'm supposed to _deal_ with her now."

"Don't ask me."

"I wasn't. I was meaning to ask you about something else, though." McKay set his mug down, wiped his hands on his slacks. "About earlier. How is it that you beat me to her quarters?"

McKay was not as practiced as the others were, not when it came to asking around the questions that they really wanted answered. He was trying to be polite, but his real concern shone through. "I mean. I _know_ you said you weren't interested..."

"I'm not. You know that I'm with..." he trailed off, refusing to look over his shoulder.

McKay's response was quiet, and sounded like surrender. "One doesn't exclude the other, though, does it?"

"It does here," Ronon grumbled, trying not to feel insulted. "Sheppard thought something was off with Keller, but couldn't do anything in case it screwed up the investigation, so he had me follow her. That's all. You don't have anything to worry about."

Rodney decided to believe him, nodding and drinking his coffee, trying to put some distance between himself and his insecure display. "Fine. But what am I supposed to do now? I'm probably going to freak out and start having nightmares about her brandishing weaponry at me."

" _I've_ brandished weapons at you before."

"Hence my point. I _still_ have nightmares about the first time we met."

Ronon froze at the admission. _That was four years ago, and I've tried... I should have been able to earn your trust by now._ "Seriously?"

McKay regarded him warily before he spoke. "No." McKay laughed. "Gotcha."

"Ass," Ronon smiled, but his heart wasn't in it.

 _I was prepared to shoot you last night, and you never would have seen it coming._

He gave Rodney the dessert from his tray, a peace offering of sorts, and sat back in his chair. He wasn't hungry anymore.  
\---

 _"You sure we can trust them?"_

"Why do you think we can't?"

"I spent all day looking at all of our own people like they were murderous traitors.  Not the best judge of character right now."

"Worried about keeping your head?"

"Well, it's not like diplomacy is your strong suit, either."   
\---

John slept alone, and dreamt of screaming twisted metal and the fall before the crash. Of being targeted, and then ignored. Let go and left alone without backup, trying to pull Holland out of the line of fire, unable to do anything different, and knowing what it meant. That no one was coming, and there was nowhere left to go. Just the bottom of the world.

Waking up from the dream was a disappointment. It always ended the same.  
\---

Ronon slept alone, and dreamt not of the wraith draining him, but filling him, blood burning through his veins, all lightning and power and energy and will. A weapon aimed, uncaring of its target, in the moment before the strike. Nothing could stop him, and he would survive the world.

Waking up from the dream was a disappointment. It always was, just for a moment.  
\---

They were almost there.

His hand brushed against John's, but he didn't let himself take it. They halted in their tracks while Ronon scanned the area for signs of life, listening carefully.

"What is it?" Sheppard's voice was quiet as he stilled himself.

Ronon shrugged, tugging at a stray thread from the strap of John's pack before speaking, almost too quietly to be heard. "Love you," he said. "Just so you know."

John smiled for the first time in days, and leaned against Ronon's arm, just slightly, before breaking contact. "You too. Whatever happens," he let out a breath. "You ready for this?" Sheppard paused outside the entrance, becoming still in the moments before the fight.

"Yeah. You?"

Sheppard's eyes were still warm, but resolved now. "Yeah. Let's go," he said, and Ronon followed him inside.

He tried to gauge where the attack would come from, and let John take the lead.

"Before we start, there's something Ronon and I need to tell you," John began. "All of you." Ronon shifted closer, but as he scanned the room, all he found were Teyla and McKay, Keller's surprise, and Kanaan's widening grin. No monsters, no threats, and no danger.

He found himself reaching for John's hand anyway, just because he could.

  
 **72\. Vegas**

Right now, John doesn't know it, but there's a detective dying in the dirt outside Las Vegas who shares his name. Shares a hell of a lot more than that, really, but in a few moments, it will be too late to matter. Another gap too far to bridge.  
\---

Ronon's still naked on John's bed, lying on propped up elbows as he works on another translation. This week it's War and Peace, but he's impatient with it. There are too many pages ahead, and he already knows that he'll stop _well_ before he reaches the halfway point, but he doesn't want to leave yet, doesn't want the quiet morning to end, and so he soldiers on for a while.

John's trying to remember how the low E is supposed to ring out, because it's not sounding right, even as he twists the tuning peg again, but the strings probably needed to be replaced months ago. The guitar sounds better, now, but not by much. He'll replace them, he thinks; next time he's Earthside.

"What're you playing?" John looks up at Ronon's question, finds him watching his hands intently, not for the first time. John doubts that Ronon really is that curious, but that he's just that bored. He's definitely not asking because he's liking what he's hearing.

" _Solitary_ _Man_ , as performed by Johnny Cash, and hacked apart by me." John smiles ruefully, scratching a little at the skin underneath the elastic of his boxers.

"That him?" Ronon flips the cover of the book shut as his chin juts up to consider the poster on the wall.

"Yeah."

"He doesn't _look_ like a musician."

"Well, he's got a _guitar_ ," John begins, twisting to look over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't just been imagining it for years. "That's sometimes an indication."

"He looks like a soldier."

"He was. Air Force. Like me."

"You ever meet him?" Ronon asks, like Johnny Cash was just someone John would have bumped into in the commissary.

"Almost got to see him, once, in this town called Las Vegas. Me and some friends were on leave. Drove for a day and a half before breaking down an hour outside of town. Couldn't find a phone, there was nothing around for miles but power lines and rocks. Took us three hours to get a tow truck out there. By the time the car was fixed, we had to turn right around and head back to the base. Never made it to the concert."

"That sucks."

John shrugs, remembering too strongly the late afternoon sun and the grit on his skin, and blinking it away. "Used to think that I'd move out there, though. When I retired from the Air Force."

Ronon pillows his head on his folded arms, blinking sleepily at him. "You weren't going to go back home?"

"Nah." The conversation ends there, for a while, and Ronon listens as John picks up the guitar, and begins to calmly butcher his way through another song. This one, Ronon recognizes, even without the words describing a man dressed in black, and he thinks he understands, now, how a musician could look like a soldier.

He figures that's why he can relate to these notes and chords. They have purpose, and he's relieved that John's playing this song now, and not the other one. It sounded hopeless and lost and alone, like the last thing he wants John to admit to.

In a few minutes, he'll remind him, just in case he needs to, but for right now, he'll doze and listen.  
\---

Right now, Ronon flinches when he hears the gunshot in the wraith's cell across the hall, wonders why he's not feeling more satisfied. Wonders if he's going to be next. Listens to the soldiers on the other side of the metal door and tries to remember the escape plan, but the sedatives make it hazy. Three years in this cell, marked off on the paper they let him keep, have made him too weak to pull it off.

They move on down the hall, their echoing footsteps quick with panic. They're frightened. Something big has just happened, is happening, something worse is coming.

More voices now, only it's later, he thinks, and he can hear the argument. Hears humane clashing with words like _de-prioritized, reallocation of resources, preparing for the shitstorm._

When the door opens, and the guards usher the doctor- the nice one, with Melena's eyes- into his cell, he reads the worry on her face, the exhaustion. Almost asks her if this was the destiny, the life she expected for herself, for all of them. He hasn't said anything in a year, though, and it doesn't matter anyway, so the thought goes unspoken. Just holds out his arm for the sedative, lets her stick the needle in, and waits for the familiar numbness to return.

Only this time, something's different, and it returns much faster, and much more completely.  
\---

Right now, Ronon doesn't know it, but there's a man dying on a bed in a room outside Las Vegas who shares his name. Shares a hell of a lot more than that, really, but in a few moments, it will be too late to matter. It will have all ended.

  
 **73\. Enemy at the Gate**

They'd taken him off the oxygen a few hours before, but Ronon's still knocked out from whatever they gave him to keep him under during the surgery. John stands by the side of his bed, trying to will him into waking up, already, trying to get those eyes open again, because he doesn't know that he can believe the doctors' prognosis until he sees it for himself.

 _He doesn't look any older_. He doesn't even look injured. He doesn't look like this could touch him, and John kind of hates him for that, because he still doesn't know which part he didn't believe. That Ronon had died, or that he was alive.

 _"I'm sorry, John," is all Teyla manages to say, and John can't even hear her. Not yet. There would be time, later, maybe, to let the meaning wash over him if he let it, but for now, he has to get everyone else to safety. Even if, for the first time in his life, he doesn't give a damn about survival._

Standing here, watching Ronon breathe in the barely hushed infirmary, he's pretty sure it had been the most terrifying, no, horrifying moment of his life. That this one loss would make the others – Teyla, Rodney, Lorne- matter so damned little, gives him vertigo even now. He's lost all perspective, again, and he's afraid how much it shows.

 _It doesn't even register that he's running towards Ronon's shout until he's opening fire on the wraith. Had it been a trick, the realization would have come too late, but it doesn't matter, because he doesn't care, he can't even think that he should. Because that one pained outcry means there's a chance that Ronon's still alive, and there are a thousand things John needs to say to him, or maybe just one, but they don't have the time, not right now._

Carson ducks his head around the corner to offer brief congratulations, and Sheppard grins into it, laughing a little, because he's failed, even if no one else knows it. He's failed them all.  
\---

He swims up out of the haze for real this time, opening his eyes to see John standing by his bed, staring at him blankly. Maybe staring through him. Whichever it is, John's not there, and it's almost startling, the disappointment settling into his gut, because he never imagined that John could make him feel this way without saying a word.

John moves, touches an angry hand against Ronon's chest, exactly where the wraith had, earlier, only this warmth felt solid, almost safe. But when John casts a quick glance around the room, when he leans in to kisses his forehead, Ronon can feel the confusion. John's frustrated, maybe even a little scared, and Ronon blinks when John presses again at his heart, another confirmation, and withdraws to the foot of the bed.

He leaned over the footboard, looking like he's trying to remain calm. "Well, how're you feeling?"

"I'm ready to get out of here," Ronon says, because maybe that's the reassurance John's looking for, and maybe it is, because John finally relaxes, even smiles a little.

"Take your time. They city's pretty banged up. Even with the ZPMs we're not going anywhere for a while."

Ronon asks one of the questions he's been dreading since they'd all arrived at the alpha site. "And when they've fixed it, d'you really think they're gonna let us take it back to Pegasus?"

"I'll make sure you get home," John says, but Ronon heard the unspoken _even if I can't follow_ , and the anxiety in his gut winds just a bit tighter.

He wants to explain it all, put him at ease, but he can't, not with this IV line in his arm and nurses chatting around the corner. Not when he doesn't have the answers and John is still looking too brittle to hear them. "This _is_ my home," is all he can offer, and he's sick with the knowledge that it's not enough, but John's smile is beginning to feel real.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ronon can see Amelia approaching. She pauses a fair distance away before speaking. "Am I interrupting?"

 _Yes_ , Ronon thinks loudly, but John looks like he's being reminded of who he is, where they are, and that he has things to do.

"Um," John glances over to her, and then to Ronon, puzzled, but then the mask begins to slide down over a brief flash of longing. "No. I was just leaving," he says, before nodding and walking away, and Ronon feels too much regret, like that parting should have gone differently, and he'd missed his chance.

"Hi," Amelia begins. "Heard you died and came back to life." She seems a little hesitant, wanting information that she doesn't know how to ask for, but she's there, with him, and it's more of a comfort than Ronon had known he'd needed.

"Pretty much. There's, ah," he looks towards the entrance, watches John turn the corner, and starts to smile, despite himself. "There's a few things I still need to do," he finishes lamely, but Amelia's schooling her features to stop herself from giggling.

Thankfully, though, she doesn't ask any of the questions he can't answer yet, and changes the subject. "You up for taking a walk?"

"I don't see why not," Ronon decides, wondering if the doctors are going to allow it, before remembering that he doesn't really care.

"Good. There's something you should see."  
\---

Banks and Woolsey are the last to head back inside, and they are finally alone. Still unable to tear his eyes from the strange sight of the bridge, John speaks first, a quiet monotone.

"I don't know how I'm going to pull it off," he admits. "Getting back to Pegasus. Not yet."

Ronon leans into his space the way John been waiting him to. "It's okay."

"Not sure about that." John feels himself shrugging, trying to find the words, and waving his hand over the bay, the bridge, and the city. "This. I dunno. It doesn't look like home any more."

"Then turn around."

John does, and all he can see are the city walls, glowing warmly in the late afternoon sun, and Ronon's grin, faltering a bit around the edges as he glances, up at a helicopter flying in the distance, on the other side of the bridge, like he's trying to distract himself.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ronon says, huffing a little, and looking back at John like too much is riding on his answer. "We're going to be okay, right?"

"Yeah," John says, and even he knows it sounds a little too much like he's trying to talk himself into it, so he says it again and means it.  
\---

"Ah, fuck it," Ronon says, out of nowhere, annoyed, like he wants to pick a fight or he's losing one. Like he's running out of time. He's scrubbing a hand over his face and tugging a little at his goatee. "Look, I know, a while back, you said you. I'm not. It's stupid. But. I want to anyway."

 _Ferris wheels. Grand Canyon. Kentucky Derby. Imax. Vegas. Times Square. Dave's place in winter. Burning Man, sushi, hockey, shopping malls._ John's trying to remember all the Earth things they've ever talked about doing, coming up with too many answers and too little context. "Want to what, exactly?"

Ronon's voice is gruff, almost contrary. " _Marry_ you, if you'll have me."

Ronon's not breathing now, he's terrified, and John's still thinking _snowboarding, soccer, waterskiing_ , when he knows he should be thinking of an answer, but damn, he never sees these things coming, and _shit_ Ronon's standing there and-.

"Okay. _Yes_." John blinks, surprised at how easily the answer comes. At how he's never meant anything as much as he's meant this, at how much insane sense it makes. At how amazing Ronon looks, standing there in hospital scrubs with that awe breaking through, spreading across his face.

Ronon's smiling now, really smiling, like he knows he's worth the world, like it's okay for John to know it too, and John thinks _'til death do us par_ t and _we've already got that one beat_.

Then he says, "come here," and presses Ronon against the wall, presses a kiss into his mouth.

It's careless, foolish, and feels dangerous as all hell, but Ronon is _here_ and _alive_ and _inevitable_ and _his_ \- just a little more than he was before, and today they saved the goddamned _world_ , and survived to watch the sun set.  
\---

John's body is shaking him into the wall, and has a death grip on his arms, but it's a panic that Ronon wants to dive into headfirst. John tastes different, here, or maybe it's the air that's strange.

Ronon's starting to feel dangerously lightheaded, but when they break apart, it's too damned soon, and he's already impatient, and wanting, but John's looking a little thrown now, and he's wiping at his eyes and trying not to look embarrassed.

A moment later, he's looking a little concerned, and suddenly, he's laughing.

"Let's get you back to the infirmary before they send out a search party," he says, and Ronon laughs, because he's never had a day where he got everything he wanted so completely.  
\---

They meet Amelia waiting outside the transporter, and her grin is wild with the same adrenaline exciting the rest of the city today, and it splits even wider as she leans in towards Ronon to ask, "So, did you do any of those things you still needed to do?"

"Yes," Ronon says, a little irritably, hoping for quiet, shuddering against her squealing barked laughter, and John's tugging at his arm to scowl Banks into silence. She bites her lip, but she's beaming.

"You told." He breaks off, begins to maneuver Ronon down the hallway again. " _That's_ what earlier was about?"

"Yeah. Ah. Kind of needed some advice. She had it," he reasons grimacing as the stitches pull a little too tightly.

He notices that John's looking thrown, watches him turn back to Amelia, briefly, to whisper loudly as they continue to walk. "It was good advice. _Thanks_."

They make it to the infirmary, and Ronon's pathetically relieved to see his bed there, to see Carson is waiting and still on the content side of impatient.

They're silent as he reinserts the IV lines and brings over the privacy screen.

"A few minutes, John, and then Ronon really needs his rest," he instructs, but he doesn't remain to belabor the point. And then they're alone again.

Ronon looks up to see John watching him intently, lost in thought.

"There's still a lot we're going to have to work out. About, ah, everything."

"I know." Ronon smiles, letting the exhaustion drift over him. Wonders hazily if there's a sedative in the drip, because his eyes want to close again.

"But it will still be there in the morning," John decides, and this time, when he kisses Ronon's forehead, it's calm and optimistic and _knowing_. "Love you," he whispers, and Ronon's thinking _I know_ and _you too_. He thinks that John can hear him, even as he's pulling away, silhouetted by the alien sunset coming in so brightly through the window.

Everything's a little off kilter, and Ronon doesn't know what galaxy he's going to be in this time next year, but for the first time in his life, he knows where he'll belong.

  
The end.  



End file.
